Comme il faut
by TheIncredibleNutmeg
Summary: AU: Six years after his mother's death, Hope never thought he'd have the money to open his restaurant. But when he strikes a deal with Serah: a restaurant in exchange for teaching Lightning how to cook, Hope may end up with more than he bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, it's about time I started writing again, and playing final fantasy 13 has really sparked an interest for me to write another fanfiction. I hope you all enjoy it, and I apologize if there isn't an update every week, I'm extremely busy because of exams. I didn't know exactly what to write at first, but I remember a saying, "write what you know" and well… I know food!**

**Some real quick definitions:**

**Walk-in – a commercial kitchen refrigerator**

**Truffle – there are actually two types mentioned in this story. 1 is a mushroom like tuber that is very expensive and pungent. 2 is a chocolate dessert made from a firm ganache (mixture of cream and chocolate)**

**Chapter 1:**

_The smell of morning was cinnamon._

_Or lavender, or any other flavor the woman fashioned into her pastries and breads. She would hum a nameless melody, her delicate hands working dough into submission in the old house that resided in the middle of the small town. It was a well-aged home, the bricks the color of fine wine, the roof a bittersweet chocolate, with little white shutters fixed to every window. The house front had been transformed into her kitchen, where she woke in the mornings and baked. Bright yellow walls surrounded her, intensifying the early morning sunlight. _

_Such a cheerful color, she would say as she frosted a three-tiered chocolate cake with her special buttercream, always smiling. Always full of life. She had been so full of life…_

The fond memory-dream slipped away, leaving a lukewarm feeling that settled into the man's chest as his alarm clock buzzed angrily. He groaned, turning in his bed. By now, Hope Estheim should have become accustomed to rising at the _terrific_ hour of four forty-five in the morning every Monday. He let out a yawn, rolling onto his belly, pressing his face into downy pillow and let out a contented sigh.

_Just…five more minutes…_ the thought passed through his head as he drifted back into a light sleep. He blinked his eyes open, turning over once more to read the beat-up digital clock.

"Five fifty?" Hope shot out of bed, leaving his bed sheets in the form of a shapeless cocoon as he rushed to his bathroom, partly tripping over a pile of jeans. He ran the faucet until the water was warm, quickly washing his face and examining himself ever so briefly after running a brush through his mangled hair. It seemed an unobtainable goal to ever rid himself of the 'bedhead" look—his silvery white hair sticking out at every which way on his head. He had once toyed with the idea of shaving it off, but the very image would have probably gained a combined cringe/laugh from his co-workers. Besides, it was his look.

Pressed for time, he exited the bathroom having taken no shower, and pulled on whatever he could find, picked up his bag, and ran out the door with a slice of leftover bread in his mouth from work yesterday. It was stale, but that was the price one paid with fresh bread—no preservatives to keep the stuff from molding for weeks on end. Hope slid into his jacket, fumbling for his keys to lock up. The next bus was in less than seven minutes and by now; the best pick of the markets had already been bought up by now and afterwards, he had to hall-ass over to work in order to receive the week's shipment, or Fang would murder him. Well, perhaps murder was a _lighter _way of putting it. In actuality he would be skinned, cut up into bit-sized pieces and sautéed with truffle oil to be put on tonight's menu.

"Freshest, in season ingredients huh?" Hope mumbled to himself. He didn't disagree with the Italian philosophy; it was just a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when your boss demanded the highest quality ingredients one could find in this city. Hope checked his watch again—three minutes. By now the city had already begun humming with life, the usual business crowds flooding the crosswalks of every corner, dressed in the same stiff neck white collared suits with the same leather briefcases. He hung a left before the crosswalk, doubling his pace and praying he made it on time for the bus.

"Wait!" He called out as the stop came into view. The doors on the vehicle hissed shut and Hope broke into a sprint, just catching the sound of the engine revving up.

"Shit." Halfway to the stop, the vehicle pulled away. The man slowed into a jog, then a walk, doubling over to catch his breath. He made use of the nearest bench, groaning in between ragged gasps for air. The jacket he had put on was now sticky with sweat, his hair windblown.

_If I hadn't overslept. _He shook his head, clamping his eyes shut and snapped his focus back to his dilemma of having no transportation till the next bus arrived, twenty minutes or so from now.

_Fang really was going to murder him._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh darling, isn't this exquisite?"

"Yes I do agree, however the salad seems a bit off."

"Off you say?"

"Yes off."

"Well perhaps we'll look for a new restaurant next time."

A loud crack sounded from the wooden spoon as it came into contact with Hope's skull. The man winced, nursing the bruise forming on the top of his head. The woman retracted her spoon, scowling up at him. "That is _exactly_ how it will sound when our customers taste the goat cheese and arugula salad." Hope stiffened under Fang's unruly gaze as she circled around the kitchen. Eden would be open in less than an hour, and the owner, Fang Yun, had taken precious time out of her busy schedule to bully the young man. "Now, why do you suppose that is?"

"Because the sous chef overslept again!" came a cheery answer from around the corner. The voice belonged to one of the waitresses and Fang's cousin, Vanille. She emerged from her hiding place, skipping and giggling to give Hope a swift pat on the back. "Third time this week right?"

Hope exhaled, tightening his fists and averting his eyes to the floor. Sous chef was not exactly the right description of his position, seeing as there was another sous chef tending to the kitchen. But by calling him the executive pastry chef, Fang was paying nearly half more of what he was currently making salary wise.Yet at the young age of twenty two, he had managed to work his way up to third in command—a rather astounding feat for someone his age. It had been a blessing that he had found work at Eden, and was able to train under Chef Anya. It was all thanks to his mother's passion for cooking. Without her, he wouldn't have made it this far.

Yet he feared he was one slip up from being fired. "I-I'm sorry," Hope stammered. "No excuses, I heard the alarm go off and I—"

"Yeah, yeah, alrigh' quit your moping. You're not fired…yet," Fang said, making a shooing gesture and turning towards the dining area. A wave of relief swept over Hope, but it was struck dead when Fang continued. "Finish prepping before I take it out of your paycheck."

"Right," he said hurriedly. Hope maneuvered around several cooks braising potatoes, barely squeezing past to the walk-in at the back of the kitchen. Whoever had the idea that commercial kitchens were large and spacious like the ones on the cooking channel were seriously misinformed: Eden's cooks were packed tightly like pickled herrings in an aluminum tin. The person to space ratio hardly varied from restaurant to restaurant. No matter where you worked, you were always fighting for more elbow room. He reached for the handle of the fridge, a big _whoosh_ of cold air biting at his face as he stepped in.

Hope reached out a finger and prodded one of his lemon-honey shortcakes, verifying that they had cooled down enough as to not melt the lavender ice cream that accompanied it. Tonight's menu was also featuring crème brulee, a French chocolate torte with raspberry sauce, and their signature white chocolate truffle cheese cake. Hope had found that a blend of cream cheese, ricotta, and some goat cheese gave the cake a heightened flavor profile as opposed to the ordinary cream cheese.

"Hey kid." Hope jumped at the sound of the voice, eyes bulging from his head. The woman who successfully entered the walk in without so much as a peep began to laugh. "Still skittish as ever, huh?"

"Chef, I don't think it's that I'm skittish so much as you move like a lion about to pounce on a gazelle." Which was a frightening thought, he believed as he rubbed the back of his neck, because Anya was eight months pregnant. It was an extremely odd sight to behold a woman with child running a busy kitchen, but if she wasn't already impossibly intimidating when provoked, the pregnancy added a new depth. Almost like a game of Russian roulette—you'd push her buttons, but you could never quite tell with the hormones when she would be set off. She placed a delicate hand on her hip and rolled her eyes.

"My husband tells me similar things," Anya laughed. Her chestnut colored hair was pulled back tightly under her toque, and she was donned in her signature converse shoes—today of which was a blinding highlighter pink.

"Your husband is a smart man," Hope grinned in agreement.

"I guess he is," She nodded, watching Hope move from shelf to shelf as he verified all his desserts were ready for serving. "Well Cupcake, is everything ready for the lunch rush?" Hope sighed, cringing at his nickname. _Cupcake_—because he was a _male_ pastry chef, that or it was a mockery of his insatiable sweet tooth. Of the two, the first one held more validity, as well as humor. He had never bothered to ask why she called him that.

Hope nodded, "Just came in to check on the shortcake. Everything is ready for the line, when the lunch rush gets in."

"On top of your game as always, I see," she noted, but Hope bit his lip, and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. Anya raised an eyebrow. "Did you oversleep again?"

"Vanille can't keep her mouth shut, can she?"

"Not exactly. That girl has more energy than twenty lithium energizer batteries," the chef marveled. She finally began to pick things from the shelves, which Hope assumed was her actual reason for coming in here. "I can see why she's probably one of the best servers here. Always chipper, never slacking on moving from table to table. But boy does that girl love to flap her gums." Hope gave her a quiet smile, preferring not to voice his opinion in the delicate matter, and the two left the fridge one after the other.

Just as Hope settled into his station, and the first orders came flocking in from the house, Fang burst through the doors. The whole kitchen came to a grinding halt, everyones' eyes widening and sulking down from the presence of the incredibly irate woman.

"I jus' received two phone calls," said Fang with steely eyes. "The first one was from James. He's not comin' in tonight. Caught some sort of stomach bug."

_Oh great, _said a faint voice in the back of Hope's mind. As if it wasn't already hectic with Marco on leave because of recent back surgery, their second sous chef was going to make tonight incredibly difficult. But Fang had notfinished informing them of the painstaking night that none of them were prepared for.

"PSICOM is having their twenty-fifth anniversary dinner tonight. I had nearly forgotten about it when one of their receptionists made a call in to confirm the reservations."

A collective groan filled the room as Fang made her second announcement, cut silent as she threw another icy glare at her work force. "Now you listen here kids: this had better be the best damn dinner they've ever sat down to or so help me I am replacing every single one of you by the end of this week." She mustered a forced smile, which looked very intimidating as she rushed back to the dining area. Hope turned to the other pastry chef on duty, a middle aged woman named Marta who continued to shake her head as she piped chocolate garnishes in the shape of butterflies.

"You don't think she's serious, do you?" He asked, setting down a stack of plates at the right side of the line.

Marta sighed, "Honey, I've been working here for more than fifteen years, and never once have I heard that woman utter a single empty threat in the presence of her employees." Hope felt his heart drop into his stomach at about the same time he dropped one of the plate he had been holding onto the floor. It would seem fate had put a large crack in the proverbial thin ice Hope had been skating on this past month. He cursed under his breath, pulling one of the towels from his apron and began picking up the large shattered pieces.

_Already off to a great start… _Marta had left her station to grab the dust pan and Hope sighed as he dropped the ceramic shards, towel and all, into the garbage. He loved his job, but there were some days, like today, which made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Chef Anya came into his line of view, a thin line forming on her lips, "Hope, when you're done cleaning, we need you over at the fire. I'm pretty sure you were already aware of this, but pulling double duty tonight." She left the man standing there, mouth slightly agape.

Never had crawling into a hole seemed like such a good option.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay! Glad people enjoyed the first chapter. I'm not entirely sure where I'm taking the story yet, but it'll be…interesting, I promise you. Please enjoy chapter two.**

**WARNING! SPOILER! Lightning's actual name is revealed in this chapter. So yeah. Don't read if you don't want to be spoiled. **

**Chapter 2**

"Yes but I still don't understand why _he_ has to be here."

Serah shushed her sister, unaware of exactly when he would return. "_He_ just happens to by my husband, Claire." The PSICOM anniversary dinner packed the entirety of the restaurant, the loud buzz of conversation and the sound of clinking glasses filling the dining area as severs nimbly weaved through the tables. Every so often a waiter would emerge from the kitchen with a large plate of appetizers and offer their goods to a table of chatting business people.

"Tch," said Lightning, taking a large sip of her water and proceeding to wipe the back of her mouth with her hand. Serah rolled her eyes, burying her face into her hands. "What's the big deal?"

"Sis, you could use a napkin," Serah noted.

"It's just water…"

"Yes I know, but-and I still can't believe what you're wearing," she frowned, twisting at a stray lock of pink hair. The older woman was dressed in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a rather old looking maroon turtle neck, which had a hole near the hem on the right side of the shirt.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked, somewhat offended. Serah opened her mouth as if to say something, but merely shook her head and nibbled on a piece of bruschetta. Though Lightning could guess the gist what she would have said. Her younger sister was wearing a light blue dress with lace and ruffles, exuding feminism. It's the way she had always been: petite, girlish, delicate.

Something that Lightning would never be.

Not that she wanted to dress all that ridiculous frilly clothing. It was extremely difficult to move in—she already had enough trouble with heels. _Though Serah might have a point about the sweater, _Lightning thought as she stuck a finger through the hole in her shirt and wiggled it. _Huh. Guess I'm going shopping this weekend. _She would have rather avoided the mall at all cost, but the last thing she wanted was to ask her baby sister to pick up some clothes for her.

"So, where's the kid?"

"Dajh offered to babysit Rose," Serah explained, wiping her hands with the napkin from her lap.

Lightning's eyes widened, "You left your four year-old daughter with a fifteen year-old kid?"

"It's only for a couple of hours," she said. "He's a very responsible young man. Besides, Sazh will be home the entire time. Dajh will just the one being paid and doing all the work."

Lightning let out a small sigh of relief. She didn't particularly like kids, but she somehow managed to warm up a little to her young niece. Between her and Serah's idiot of a husband, she would have preferred that Serah had brought Rose instead.

_Besides, _Lightning smirked, _The kid has an excuse to act like a kid._

"What I miss?" Lightning snorted as the blond man returned to his seat, plopping down in his chair and grinning like a dumbass. He looked very odd dressed in khakis and a stripped collared shirt with that stupid bandana tied to his head, even more so when he gave Lightning a rather dumbfounded expression. "What's with the sour face, Light? This is your company's dinner."

"Don't call me that," said the woman rather agitatedly. She picked up a hand full of her dusty pink hair, tossing it over her shoulder. "And it's not my company. They just expect me to show up."

"Well I would want the head of human resources to show up to the company's anniversary dinner too," he commented, taking a sip of his beer. "But of all things, you, the head of HR. Not exactly a big people person, are you Sis?"

"Shut it, Snow," Lightning hissed. She lengthened her spine, chin tilted down, eyes bearing forward—the threatening pose she always used to make back in high school before punching the lights out of some random guy.

"Easy there," Snow raised his hands, motioning gently for her to relax. Lightning huffed, crossing her arms and sank back into her chair. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You're lucky I don't come over there and give you a black eye," she growled. The man had already sapped most of her patience for the evening, and Lightning was certain that he wouldn't be leaving her at the end of the night in one piece.

"Light, please," Serah pleaded. The woman let out another frustrated sigh as a waiter rounded the table, picking up their empty hors d'oeuvres plates and replacing them with soup. Serah forced a smile, picking up her spoon. "Let's just enjoy the dinner, shall we? The food is exceptional here."

Lightning nodded reluctantly. At least Amodar had the mind to pick a decent restaurant. The Guardian branch of PSICOM's head manager was seated at the complete opposite side of the room. Perhaps later she would go over and congratulate him on handling that offer from the main headquarters. But for now, she preoccupied herself with the soup, being careful not to slurp as to avoid another nagging session from Serah.

"Snow, could you excuse us for a moment?" Serah's voice had caught Lightning off guard.

"No problem, babe," he replied with a large grin. Just as Lighting was starting to enjoy her second course, her sister gave a firm tug on her sleeve, dragging her to the bar. Lightning never pictured Serah as the drinking type, so it was an easy excuse for them to talk alone. She sighed, taking a seat at the bar and ordered a Greyhound, while her sister requested some cocktail with champagne and citrus juice. The bartender passed her the drink, and she took a sip, savoring the bitter flavors of grapefruit and vodka.

"Why did you drag me here again?" she asked with a tone void of any emotion.

"I know we've talked about this before, but…" Serah's hesitated. Lightning looked up from her drink, frowning at her sister. "You're almost twenty-nine, and well…" Serah fidgeted in her seat, avoiding Lightning's cool gaze. "I was just wondering if maybe you met someone-"

"Nope," Lightning answered all too quickly, returning to her cocktail. It must have been the third time Serah had brought up that subject, much to her displeasure. Besides, the last time her sister had tried to set her up with a guy, it had ended…not particularly well.  
"I know things with Armand…didn't quite go…well," Serah continued. Lightning smirked as she recalled that date, and how the moron had tried to grope her ass. That man was not having any kids in his lifetime, after Lightning had been through with him. It made Lightning wonder what kind of taste Serah had in men. Just as the thought passed, she caught Snow out of the corner of her eye setting up what looked like a catapult made of silverware back at their table. A pile of peas sat on his plate, scooped out from the soup. On the other end of the table was an empty glass which she assumed was goal point of his makeshift pea-catapult.

_Oh Serah, how did you ever marry this guy while I'm still breathing?_

"Sis, what I'm trying to say is, I'm worried about you," Serah said, placing a hand on her sister's arm. Lightning sighed, taking the lemon twist from the edge of her glass and popping it in her mouth. She cringed as Lightning continued to chew. "I mean, you've never been particularly…social. Especially since Mom and Dad passed." They both paused, eyes glazed over from the memory of the day they had been called by the police, saying their parents had been in a car accident. The impact had killed them instantly. Lightning had been the one to go down to the hospital and verify the bodies…

"-and I'm grateful for you finally opening up a little after all these years, but still. I think it would be good for you to find someone, Light: Someone who can get to know you better than I can."

"You want to find me a boyfriend?" Lightning asked with a scowl.

"I'd do it for you, but that last one was a flop," Serah said, shaking her head. She stared absent-mindedly at her drink, spinning the little paper umbrella around. "It's just that sometimes you can be a little-"

"Abrasive? Intimidating?" The woman became tense, eyes narrowed at her sister. Lightning had already finished her first drink and quickly motioned to the bartender for a second one. "I'm not exactly the picture of femininity, y'know."

"I-I didn't mean it like that, Light, but I think maybe dating," she stuttered. Serah had barely touched her drink, but took a long sip before speaking up again. "Take a dance class; go to a singles group, a cooking class, who knows? You might meet somebody."

"Not interested, thanks," she shot down Serah's string of ideas. Lightning stood up from the bar, cocktail in hand, turning to head back towards the table when she was yanked back by her sister. The older woman gasped, nearly spilling the entirety of her drink.

"Sis please! Please consider it!" Serah begged. Lightning turned to snap at the young woman but her soft, doe-like eyes made the angry words catch in her throat.

_Damn those eyes_. It was one of the few things that would ever make her reconsider a decision. Sure explained why Serah had all the books, clothes, and toys piled up everywhere in their old house. When her parents had still been alive…

"Look, just give something a try, and I promise I'll never bother you again about getting a boyfriend," she insisted, holding out her pinky. Lightning ran a hand through her hair, a long pause before she gave a curt nod and joined pinkies with her sister. The whole motion seemed entirely ridiculous but when it was finished, Serah nearly jumped out of her seat, clasping her hands together and smiling. "Okay, now which sounded the least appalling to you?"

Lightning bit her lip, thinking, and still wondering how on earth she had agreed to do this. _Dancing…seems kind of pointless. As for the singles group…like hell she'd be caught in one of those rooms full of people desperate for a partner."_

"Cooking class doesn't sound too bad…" Lightning said honestly. In all consideration, it probably _was_ the least appalling. Maybe she might pick up a few things, just enough to prevent her from eating cup noodles and Chinese takeout every night. "Yeah, I don't think I'd mind doing the cooking class.

"What's a good day then?" Serah asked, almost as if she had carefully planned this entire conversation ahead of time. Lightning rolled her eyes.

"I'm free Friday nights." The rest of the week she was either working, or at the gym. And Sunday night was the one time of the week where she would head over to Serah's for an actual dinner.

"Wonderful! Leave everything to me." Serah jumped forward and gave her sister a bone-crushing hug, making it the second time she almost spilled her drink. Lightning just shook her head and sighed. Asking Serah to contain her excitement was like asking the sun to rise in the west in the morning. "Now don't worry about anything. I'll work out all the details: find you a teacher, get you're equipment, heck I'll even pay for it!"

"By 'you', you mean Snow," Lightning smirked. Serah replied with a seemingly innocent smile.

"Well despite being a stay at home mom, I have my resources," Serah grinned. The two women left the bar at last, returning to the table with a rather disgruntled looking Snow.

"What have you ladies been talking about all this time? They came by with the food already!" Snow said, gesturing to the plate in front of him. "And I would have started, but-"

"I know dear," Serah interjected, kissing her husband on the cheek. She scooted herself in, eyeing up the truffled potatoes in front of her. "Just a little heart to heart with sis, nothing particularly special."

"Yeah…" Lightning took a bite of her own food—salmon cooked on some sort of wooden plank, and her eyes widened at the taste. The sauce on the top was very creamy, and there was a smokiness to the fish...was that from the wood? Lightning continued to devour her plate. Maybe the cooking class wasn't such a bad idea after all—if she could eat like this every night. For once Lightning was actually grateful for her sister's suggestion. She just hoped the gratitude would last long enough to see her through this mad idea.

The family made it through the entire diner without another argument, if one didn't count Lightning kicking Snow under the table with the heel of her stiletto as arguing. It had made the man yelp, but his wife had been preoccupied at the time, and Lightning got away with bruising her brother-in-law's shin.

"Aren't you going to get dessert?' Serah asked, letting their waiter know she and Snow would be splitting a slice of cheesecake.

"I don't really like sweets that much," Lightning admitted, shoving the menu back into the waiter's hands.

"Ah, but madam, we have a good special tonight—a French chocolate torte with raspberry sauce. The chocolate is dark and bitter, not too sweet," the waiter explained.

"Dark and bitter, that suits you," Snow jested.

Lightning glared at him, "You want a matching one?"

Snow gulped at the thought of another stiletto being jammed into his leg, and shook his head.

Serah looked confused by her sisters statement, but pushed her husband's argument. "Ignoring the way he phrased it, Snow's right—it seems something that suits your taste. Besides, you can't go wrong with chocolate."

"Fine I'll get it. Not like its coming out of my pocket anyways," she said. When Amodar was generous, he was generous. First this dinner, and he had just announced that they'd be getting a bonus in their paychecks.

"I'm sure it will be amazing! You've liked all the food, right?"

"It was good," said Lightning. Which she felt was an understatement, but she wasn't about to go into a lengthy explanation of how much she enjoyed her dinner.

"Please enlighten me as to how to make Light agreeable," Snow whispered to Serah. Serah laughed and elbowed him playfully.

"That's one of the twenty-eight secrets of the Farron family," Serah giggled.

"Wait a minute, there's twenty-eight?" Snow asked surprised. "How many do I know about?"

"Counting this one, number thirteen…just one," she smiled, tugging his bandana over his eyes. "You'll have to work for the rest."

Lightning snorted, and pushed at the toothpick in her empty glass, making it spin around. The waiter returned in a few minutes with their orders, and a pot of coffee. She gestured to her glass, a ghost of a smile on her face as she watched her favorite beverage fill the little white mug. The torte sat immaculately on the rectangular white plate, artfully drizzled with raspberry sauce. Two raspberries made their home atop the cake, and a dollop of whipped cream sat, piped neatly on the other end of the plate.

"This probably has to be the best thing I've eaten…like, ever," Serah gushed, taking another big spoon full of her cheesecake and sticking the whole thing in her mouth. Snow took a bite not soon after, and immediately stopped talking as he continued to fork down the dessert, the only thing escaping his lips being an occasional "mmm".

Lightning's eyes widened. _It's like…some sort of miracle cheesecake. _If it could make Snow shut up…_was the chocolate thing she ordered made by the same chef?_ She dug her fork into the torte, raising it to her lips.

And took a bite.

Lightning's eyes rolled back in her head, a small gasp escaping her mouth. It was like…like…pure _bliss _in the concentrated form of a wedge of cake. The chocolate was rich and bitter, like the perfect cup of coffee, but also had just the right amount of sweetness. The raspberry's tartness complimented the flavors of the torte perfectly. She wanted to take the torte and run, run to a faraway place where only she and the torte could be alone together, and savor every last bite.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever seen your sister express that much emotion…ever," Snow marveled, setting down his fork on his empty plate.

"It…it's like-"

"An orgasm in your mouth," Serah finished, earning surprised stares from her husband and sister. A small blush settled over the woman's cheeks. "Well I figured you two weren't going to say it." Serah rose from her seat, "Gonna go to the restroom. Be back in a second."

Lightning gave a small nod of the head to acknowledge her statement, and returned to her dessert. Not even Snow could ruin this moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

Serah pushed past the crowded tables, out of sight from Lightning and Snow, and tapped the nearest waitress on the shoulder. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" came an enthusiastic response from the woman. She had pale, curly red hair pulled back into two pigtails, making her appear look much younger than she probably was. The girl seemed unable to remain still, giggling and swaying around like a child. "How can I help you?"

"I know you're really busy, but do you mind if I speak with the chef? The one that made the torte?" Serah asked quietly.

The waitress smiled, "No need to be shy about it! I'll ask my boss real quick. It probably won't be much of a problem, now that the PSICOM dinner is done. Just a second!" She giggled again, and disappeared behind a corner. Serah leaned against the wall to narrowly avoid being taken down by a water with a large tray full of steaming hot plates. She had somehow known that Lightning would want cooking lessons out of all the suggestions she had made. And of all the things she could have done, a one-on-one instructor might actually be better for her, for it would force her to actually communicate with that someone, even if it was a woman. Not to mention cooking, especially baking, was actually somewhat of a feminine activity. At least her sister would be doing something else than spending all of her free time at a gym, getting buffer and scarier looking every time she left.

"My boss gave the o-kay!" The bubbly waitress said, giving Serah yet another smile.

"Thank you…"

"It's Vanille!" She answered cheerily. "And you're quite welcome! Though I'd be a bit careful, if I were you, Hope's a bit cranky from the extra work load."

"Extra work load?" Serah repeated.

"We were down two people today you see. Mind you, Fang was in a real-oh! Right, sorry, here I am chatting your ear off. Well, go on!" Vanille shoed Serah into the kitchen, smiling. She entered the kitchen, blushing when the entire staff looked up from their work for a moment to stare at her, but Vanille eventually reappeared behind her. Serah caught sight of a middle-aged woman, busy garnishing a slice of cake.

_That must be Chef Hope, _she thought to herself. It seemed like a good match for Lightning, an older woman would certainly know how to help her sister become more feminine.

"Hope, someone's here to give you a compliment!"

"Just a second!" Serah's eyes widened when a man's voice answered Vanille's call. The very idea of a male pastry chef was downright strange, let alone his name be 'Hope'…

So it was very shocking indeed for Serah when a young man appeared with messy silver-white hair, probably not much younger than herself. Vanille giggled, almost if she could read Serah's thoughts just from her face, and pushed one of the double doors open.

"Well, here he is! I've got to get back to work now. Ciao!"

XXXXXXX

"Um…" The strange woman began, fidgeting slightly. Hope rubbed his neck, letting out a tired grunt, glad Vanille had left the kitchen. The goofball waitress had managed to break a grand total of seven dishes tonight, as if the kitchen hadn't already been extremely busy. His legs ached, unable to sit down since he arrived this morning.

"Can I help you?" Hope offered, slightly unenthusiastic.

"Your torte…it made my sister smile," said the woman.

"Er…you're welcome?"

"She never smiles!" the woman exclaimed, and immediate covered her mouth, blushing. She was a very pretty girl, with pink curls pulled half-way out of her face, thought his thoughts were put to a quick halt when he spotted the ring wrapped around her left index finger. "Anyways, thank you. It's been a very long time since I've seen her face light up like that."

Hope let out a nervous laugh, "Just doing my job…really."

"I'm sorry, you must be really tired. Do you want to sit down?"

"Um…" But Hope caught Anya nodding at him for him to sit down, mouthing a 'don't worry about it'. Hope looked back at the woman. "Sure."

"Great," she said. Hope pulled up two chairs for them in the corner of the kitchen where there was the least amount of traffic. The woman smiled, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"I'm fine, thanks," she answered as Hope fixed himself a glass of water. "I'm going to cut to my point, since you're probably very busy. I'd like to pay you to teach my sister how to cook."

Hope nearly spat out his water, gasping and choking until he managed to force it down his throat. A look of worry spread across the woman's face, and she got of her chair to pat Hope on the back. "Sorry, I probably should have given you a little warning beforehand."

"Y-yeah," he stammered, coughing. That was probably the last thing he thought she'd say. He had been expecting the usual, 'It tastes like how my Grandma used to make it' or 'could you give me the recipe for this?'

"And I didn't even introduce myself, so sorry," she laughed. "I just got this crazy idea all of a sudden, my family still thinks I'm in the bathroom—I'm Serah Villiers."

Hope's jaw dropped. "Villiers? As in, Snow Villiers?" Snow Villiers was a very prominent man in the food industry, having managed a pantheon of fine restaurants in his very young career. Just to be able to meet his wife…

"The very one," Serah smiled. "Yes I know you must have heard of my husband, he's quite popular in the restaurant world. But on to my point," they both sat down again. "My sister isn't exactly, well, to put it politely… she takes a bit of warming up to. She's like-"

"-an acquired taste?" Hope offered, and Serah bobbed her head.

"Exactly," she said. "I'm really worried about her, you know, finding a significant other? But she somehow manages to scare off every man I send in her direction…"

_And what makes you think I'll be any different? _Hope thought sarcastically.

"I know what you must be thinking, and don't get wrong, I don't blame you," Serah sighed. Her blue eyes held sadness about them now, a kind of sadness that seemed like it had been there for a very long time. "But there's something there behind the rough exterior that I've tried so hard to get through. I figured if maybe she found someone to share herself with, her old self would return, despite everything she's been through."

Hope put a hand quietly on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't come here to give you a sob story." She sniffled and held back the tears that were forming.

"So, what is it exactly you want me to do?"

Serah laughed, "Well before I met you, I thought you would have been a woman…"

"I get that a lot," Hope gave her a small smile.

"Anyways," she continued, wiping a stray tear that had managed to escape her eyes. "I thought that if maybe she learned to cook, she'd find a hidden passion or become a little more ready to embrace her feminine side, maybe even start looking for a boyfriend. I know it must sound silly."

"Not really," Hope said, watching the kitchen bustle around. "Food has a funny way of bringing people together. My Mom always used to say that, anyways." Hope stood, offering a hand to Serah. "So, is your sister here with you?"

"Yeah, I can point her out to you." Hope followed her out into the dining room. Serah turned her head briefly before pressing forward. "You know, I don't just have to pay you. I could ask my husband to pull a few strings, depending on the situation. Is there anything you'd like? Maybe a better restaurant to work in?"

"Ah, I really couldn't do something like that," he protested, but there was one small thought that surfaced in his mind. "Your husband wouldn't by chance know of a place available to be turned into a restaurant?"

Serah frowned, "That's all?" She laughed when Hope gave her a shy nod. "He does have a very close friend that specializes in that sort of stuff." She stood still for a moment, silent. "Tell you what-you teach my sister to cook for six months, and I can pretty much promise you a spot for a restaurant."

"R-really?" Hope stammered. His eyes lit up like a child who just saw a pile of presents on Christmas morning. "You could actually do that? I mean, I really don't have the money for it-"

"If it's for Sis, and a good investment for my husband, you can guarantee it!"

"Thank you…" Hope had been expecting to wait ten years before ever having the money to start up his own restaurant. Just six months, and he might actually have a shot at _Nora –_it was only fitting that he named it after his mother. He had promised her before she passed. Hope shook himself from his thoughts, and hurried up to Serah. "What did say your sister's name was again?"

"I don't think I told you," said Serah, and pointed in the direction of a nearby table. "Her actual name is Claire, but she refused to go by it. So she goes by her nickname 'Lightning'"

"Lightning," he repeated. It left an odd taste in his mouth. He followed the direction of Sarah's finger over to a little table in the far corner. The first person he recognized instantly as Snow—he had seen his picture in a few culinary magazines before. The second was a woman with similar colored hair to Serah's. She had higher cheek bones: a very angular face that was scowling at man across the table. Hope watched as Snow began to laugh and the woman stood, with murder in her eyes, reaching over the table and gripping the man by the collar.

He swallowed, "That's her?"

"Yeah, I better go check on them," she said with embarrassment. Hope took a seat at the bar as he watched the petite woman attempt to break the arguing pair up, cringing when Lighting raised her fist as if to strike Snow. Fortunately Serah gained control of the situation, coaxing her sister to sit back down while Snow exited the restaurant. The young woman had been accurate of the description regarding her sister's 'rough exterior'. A few moments after Snow had left, Lighting parted ways with Serah, and the pink haired woman made her way back to the bar.

"Sorry about that," she said, brushing off the front of her dress. "Well, that's lightning. Will work out the payment after the first lesson…is Friday an okay day for you?"

"Yeah… it's actually my day off." That, and Thursday but Hope usually went out to the bar around the block of his apartment complex and had a few drinks with Maqui and the others.

"Perfect! Here is my number, and here is Light's number. I don't think you should call her quite yet, but just in case." Serah crammed the slip of paper into Hope's open hand. She put on her jacket and gave him a final smile. "Good luck, Hope."

"Thanks," he said, and waved until she left the door. His voice dropped to a more unenthusiastic tone. "I'll be needing it…" Hope sighed, and took what felt like an impossibly long walk back to the kitchen.

_Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into, Estheim? _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yay! No school for a month! I'm all done with finals and I don't have to work for two weeks, so expect plenty of updates! Thank you all for you shnazzy reviews, they make me smile a derpy smile.**

**I apologize for excessive dialogue and otherwise boring chapter 3. **

**Side note: I don't own Iron Chef in any way, shape or form ;D or Food and Wine Magazine**

**Chapter 3**

"Yes I'll make sure we have the meeting in time for next week. Alright. Bye."

Lightning sighed as she returned the phone to its cradle, leaned forward in her desk and pinched the temples of her forehead. There was another round of layoffs within the week and the last thing she needed was to spend her remaining hours at work explaining why they had to get rid of said unfortunate employees. It was both awkward and frustrating to sit down with a person and tell them why they were being let go. Some people were silent when they were told: their faces pale and lips tightened. Yet others would burst out into tears. The worst by far were the sob stories—the ones with five kids and no other source of income. It only gave the gossiping employees in PSICOM more excuses to call her a bitch when she wasn't listening.

To say the least, Lightning hated her job. PSICOM was a rather small company, having only created a HR department within the past three years. At the time, it sounded like an appealing job: organizing and making the workplace more efficient to increase productivity. It was ingrained in her to make everything organized. Yet the workload was strenuous, and she would rather repeatedly bash her head into her desk than deal with the legal mumbo-jumbo.

Lightning grumbled as the phone chimed into her train of thought, and she resentfully brought it to her ear. "PSICOM Guardian branch, Human Resources, Claire Farron speaking."

"Hi sis," came Serah's voice from the other line. Lightning felt a hint of relief as she broke from her work-place formalities. She leaned back in her chair, swiveling back and forth a few times.

"What's going on Serah?"

"Well, I know I should have probably told you sooner, but I found you a teacher!" Lightning's eyes narrowed. _Teacher? What is she-_

"Oh." The words escaped her lips.

"'Oh'? Is that how you thank me?" Serah giggled. Lightning leaned forward, allowing her head to rest on her desk. She had all but forgotten about the deal from Monday night—cooking lessons. Had she really agreed to give up her only free night out of the week so readily?

"About that," Lightning began, gripping the phone tighter. To tell Serah that she changed her mind would probably crush her spirit, though Lightning was notorious for that—it was her job, after all. "Serah I was thinking—"

"I can hardly wait for you to meet! Just think! You'll finally have something to talk about on Sunday nights besides work. Not that I mind, Light, but your business seems to put a damper on the soul sometimes." The words Lightning had carefully arranged in her head came out in a drawn out sigh. She tapped a finger on the desk, contemplating her next move.

"-Mommy, I wanna try!"

"Rosie, shh. I'm on the phone with Aunt Claire-"

"Aunt Claire!"

The muffled sounds of footsteps echoed in Lightning's ears. She sighed, and turned back to her computer, scrolling through emails until her sister returned to the phone. "Sorry about that. No Rose, Mommy is busy right now. No sweetie, you can't talk to Aunty Claire. Now don't give me that look, young lady-"

"Just put her on," Lightning ordered. She heard Serah sigh on the other end, and the loud rustling of the phone being taken hold by a pair of clumsy hands.

"Hi Aunt Claire."

A smile threatened to creep onto Lightning's face. "Hi Rose."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working right now," she replied smoothly.

"Oh," the girl paused. "You going school?"

"What?"

"Cook!" The girl shouted, causing Lightning to tear the phone away from her ear. It still astounded her how piercing a child's voice could be, frowning as her right ear began to ring.

"Rose, you should shout into the phone like that," Serah said sternly.

"Sowwie." Lightning reluctantly brought the phone back to her ear. "Mommy says you go school and make treats. Can Aunty Claire make Rose a birfday cake?"

Lightning froze. "Doesn't your Mommy usually make you a cake?"

"Mommy bought Rose one last birfday but Mommy says Aunty Claire's cake will be better. She says Daddy maked Rose too gore-may for Jool cake."

Lightning bit back the urge to groan. Not even five and the kid was beyond spoiled. "Can you give the phone to Mommy?"

"Pwease cake?"

"S-sure. Can you give the phone to Mommy now?"

"Okay!" There was a long pause before Serah's voice returned.

"Hello?"

"You used the kid? That's low Serah," Lightning growled. There was a knock at her office door, followed by a young bespeckled man who entered and immediately closed the door again after being glared at. Lightning closed her eyes and bit her lip.

"Now what on Earth would make you think that?" Serah asked with a honey-sweet voice.

"When she asked me to make her a birthday cake because _somehow _Rosie knows her aunt is going to cooking class." Lightning retorted. "And what the hell has Snow been feeding her?"

"She eats anything really," said Serah. "Well, just about anything. I can't get her to eat those frozen chicken nuggets, or fruit gummies, and if I over cook the vegetables for dinner…well, forget about it. As for Snow, sometimes when he goes out to critique new restaurants, he's brought her with…and he's been feeding her gourmet food."

"Tch." _That kid is going to grow up to be extremely high maintenance, that's for sure. _"Have you tried taking her for a happy meal or something?"

"Oh believe me, I've tried," Serah answered tiredly. "Anyways, about your class—it's at five-thirty Friday night, unless that's a bad time for you? I have the number-"

Lightning shook her head, "I'll get the number later." She took the phone and tilted her head, wedging it against her shoulder. Of the seventy-two messages in her inbox, she had finally found an important one. "So where exactly is this cooking class?"

"You know the bookstore on the corner of Main and South? Two stores down they've got a place there for cooking students with open kitchens. It's called _Brunoise_."

"Brun-what?"

"The teacher said you two could meet there. I figured you prefer that over going to a complete stranger's apartment," she replied. "Well, glad to see you hadn't changed your mind. I thought you might have: talk to you later!"

"Wait, Serah-"

_**Click.**_

Lightning cursed under her breath. Leaning back in her chair, she placed both feet on her desk, frowning. Serah was plotting something—that was certain. Once again she had managed to weave through the conversation and ensure that Lightning would be taking these cooking classes._ Well, maybe I'll finally break free of eating cup noodles all the time._ A knock at the door roused her from thinking, and the man who had attempted to come into contact with her earlier stood reluctantly in the door way. She removed her feet from her desk, sitting up in her seat.

"Miss Farron?" he stammered. The man adjusted his glasses, and gripped his file folders nervously. He was dressed in a sloppy plaid dress shirt, with a moth-eaten sweater vest and striped tie. "I was told to deliver this to you."

"Come in…I guess," she said. The worker cautiously made his way over to the woman's desk, as if a starved lion had invited him in instead. Lightning in the meantime began writing to her correspondent that sent her the information about the new shipment of software.

"-Should I just leave them here?"

"Huh? Yeah." She heard herself say, continuing to type. A faint sound of a file hitting the desk followed by a closing door made her pause from her work, and reach for the file. She unwound the fastener, and flipped open the folder which held but a few sheets of paper. "What is this?" Her eyes began skimming over the page, narrowing as she read further. The tops of her knuckles turned white from clenching her fists, and she stood up from her desk, tossing the file folder angrily into the trash bin as she gathered her belongings and stomped angrily out the door.

"Miss Farron?" came a young female employee's voice carrying a stack of papers down to the copy room. "Miss Farron, where are you going?"

"Clocking out early today," she huffed, not bothering to put on her jacket. Lightning rounded the corner, the automatic doors sensing her angry clomping heels from more than twenty feet away. The chilly fall air didn't faze her from the walk to her car with the image of the letter burned into her mind:

_Dear Miss Farron:_

_ There have been recent changes in the economy, as you may be aware of; PSICOM Guardian branch has been forced to make some difficult decisions for the overall benefits of the company. _

_ We are writing to regrettably inform you that we are terminating your employment as of October 17__th__. You have been a great asset to the PSICOM Guardian branch, and we are sorry to see you go._

_Sincerely,_

_James Amodar_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, why is it you're here again on a Wednesday night? After work…did I mention it's about eleven forty five at night? Should you be, y'know, sleeping?" The Lindblum Tavern harbored only a handful of patrons that night, mostly business men from the inner parts of the city who got off late, or the occasional group of college kids. Maqui had already broken into his second energy drink, headphones looped around his neck when he decided to pull away from his game and join in on the conversation. Occasionally, Yuj would leave to wait on a nearby table, but the place was relatively quiet. After trudging five blocks south of _Eden_, Hope now sat at the bar slumped over, his head pressed to his forearm.

"Give the kid a break, he's allowed to unwind once in a while in the middle of the week," the woman behind the counter smiled, wiping the rim of her shaker. She gave him a small nudge. "Want any more?"

"I think I'm good," he replied dully, pushing his empty glass back to Lebreau. A glass of wine and two shots were about enough to make his current situation seem a smaller problem than it actually was. The alcohol left a warmth that spread deep in his chest, making him smile. "I am seriously screwed."

"Here we go," Maqui rolled his eyes and shifted the headphones back onto his ears.

Lebreau placed a hand on her hip. "Hope, did you drink anything before coming here?"

"Maybe a glass of wine…or two," he frowned, counting on his fingers. "Doesn't matter-the point is, I am in deep shit." He pounded his fist on the counter for emphasis, and let his head droop until it rested on his hand. "You know what? I think I'll have another."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so." Her lips thinned into a small frown and slapped his hand away from the martini she had been fixing for another customer, and began re-arranging liquor bottles. "The last thing I need to hear about is how Fang bit your head off because you came into work tomorrow with a hang-over."

"You're right," Hope sighed. His arms fell to his side, and he rested his chin on the surface of the bar, blowing a puff of air upwards to move a piece of wry hair. The surface of the ledge was smooth and cold and it felt good against his throbbing warm face.

"So how exactly are you screwed?" asked Yuj as he took a seat next to Hope, using the counter as an elbow rest. Lebreau frowned at him, grabbed the nearest towel, and whipped it at his back. The man cringed, sitting up-right on the bar stool.

"Well this lady came in tonight…a pretty lady," Hope began, each word causing his head to bounce up and down slightly from his jaw hitting the counter. The group let out a collective groan, including Maqui who, up until this point, had not bothered listening. Hope's voice became sharp, "Not like that guys! She was married. Anyways, we made a deal."

"Did you make a deal?" Lebreau asked, motioning for Yuj to take the drink to their guest. "Or is this the liquor talking?"

"No. It was a deal—a _real_ deal." Hope's voice dropped in to a whisper. "She wanted to give me…a restaurant."

"Are you seriously feeling alright?" her voice fell flat.

"Yes."

"You're not imagining this?" Lebreau confirmed.

"No."

"Are you sure?" Maqui joined in.

"No-I mean yes. Ugh!" Hope threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "She was Snow Villier's wife, okay? That's who I met-Snow Villier's wife. She said she'd talk to him about finding me a restaurant I could pick up without charge." Hope sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really am one step closer to opening 'Nora'."

Lebreau's eyes widened, "Snow?"

"Yes, I know, it sounds crazy—the famous guy with his picture on Food and Wine magazine-"

"I don't think that's what she means." Maqui exchanged glances with Yuj, who had returned from his pilgrimage to a far away table, and hesitated before speaking. "Snow was a college buddy of ours."

"What?" The burst of sound was so loud that it made his voice crack. Hope cleared his throat, and continued staring at Maqui. "You're joking, right?" He frowned when they shook their heads almost simultaneously—it seemed odd that he didn't know about this. Yet, he had only been coming to the Lindblum for a few months now, and had barely known the crew as long as that. _Still, that sounds like somethi_ng _you'd tell someone when you've known them for a while…_

"We hadn't talked to him much after he started dating Serah," Maqui explained. "You see, he got really wrapped up in his relationship with the girl, and they sort of took off together about a year later. We hadn't seen much of him since."

"But we certainly know about the fame," Lebreau added, smoothing her work uniform down. "It's a little difficult to ignore. I mean, I e-mail him from time to time and once and a while I get a response. We were invited to the wedding, at least."

"The man has a one track mind," Yuj smirked, but it fell as he spoke again. "He couldn't quite balance between college, friends, and a girlfriend. Can't really blame him though—it was just community college where we met, and we all went our separate ways afterwards."

"By 'separate' you mean Snow went one and us losers all went in the other?" Maqui added. He adjusted the goggles strapped to his head.

"Hey we are not losers," Lebreau argued, throwing her towel down on the counter. She jabbed a finger at Maqui, making him wince at the forceful poke. "This little bar has become really successful."

"Ignoring the tacky uniforms," Yuj said with a grimace as he glanced down at his clothing. He clasped Hope on the shoulder. "If you're serious though Hope and you really have a shot at Nora, I get to design the outfits."

"Y'all have a problem with my uniforms?"

The conversation came to a grinding halt as the owner butted in on their conversation. Maqui shrank down, pointing a finger at Yuj, "He has the problem, Sir."

"Oh this boy has many problems, that's for sure," the man laughed and tussled Yuj's long mop of blue hair until it was in a complete disarray. He smirked at the horrified expression on the fashion-oriented man's face, while Maqui, Lebreau and Hope joined in laughing. "So what's this talk about a restaurant?"

"Hope was just telling us how he struck a deal up in exchange for a restaurant, Rydgea," Lebreau nodded to Hope as she brandished another glass. Rydgea's mouth fell open slightly.

"Really now? Now what on Earth could you possible offer in exchange for something like that?"

There was a long pause before he responded, "Cooking lessons."

"For a restaurant?" Rydgea slammed his hands down on the table. "You teaching the president's kids how to cook or something?"

"Er, well," he tried to explain. "It's for the sister—Serah Villier's sister." The group quieted down as Hope continued to speak. "She said she wanted her sister to open up more, and said that I made a dessert that made her smile…or something. So she asked me to give her sister cooking lessons."

Rydgea scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Villier…as in Snow Villier?" Hope nodded, and the man sputtered. "Well then. I can probably see why she's agreed to give you that restaurant of yours."

"Because of her husband's status?" he asked.

"Not exactly," said Rydgea, motioning to Lebreau for a drink. She ducked behind the counter and passed him a beer. He gathered the end of his shirt and covered the top of his drink to twist the cap off, the bottle hissing under the pressure. "I've done business with Snow back in the day. I was invited to dinner a few times, and I met that sister in law of his." He snorted, and took a long draught of his beer, wiping the edge of his mouth with his sleeve. "That woman has a glare that could curdle milk. Not exactly what you'd call 'people oriented'."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed," Hope commented sarcastically and sighed. "As if that weren't an issue, I'm not exactly sure how to go about _teaching_ someone how to cook."

Rydgea grinned and slapped Hope on the back, causing him to grunt. "Now you should've thought of that _before_ you signed up to this, huh?"

"Please don't remind me of my impulsive, poorly thought out choices," he groaned, wringing his hands. "When she said she'd offer up something, I just thought of Mom and…well, I can't even really think of where to start. I haven't even been out of pastry school for more than three years! You'd think she'd have chosen someone with a little more experience."

"Use that to your advantage then," Lebreau offered. Hope straightened up a little more in his seat as she finished putting away glasses. "I mean, if you're fresh out of cooking school, shouldn't you remember what they taught you from day one? You also have to wait for you student to come in and judge how much she already knows about cooking."

"Wow Lebreau, seems you know a lot about teaching," Maqui noted.

She frowned, "Don't get smart with me. I'm still looking for a solid job, and I am substituting from time to time. It's not easy finding a permanent teaching position." Lebreau turned to Hope again. "Just start off with the basics, whatever those are. Look, I can even help you write lesson plans for each week if you want."

"Y-you will?" Hope stared at her in disbelief. Lebreau sighed, nodding. She reached under the bar counter and pulled out a pen and piece of paper. "We'll start it now, since you're already here. How many weeks are you teaching it for?"

_How long? _Hope sat for a while, thinking. "I actually hadn't thought of that."

"Well, a school semester is about 18 weeks. That seems sufficient time to learn something. It's mid October now…so you'd be done in, let see. You wouldn't have class thanksgiving, or Christmas, or New Years…about the second week of March." Lebreau removed the cap of the pen and began scrawling on the paper. The rest of the guys watched her quietly until she was finished, and then flipped it around so Hope could read it.

The top of the paper read _Cooking class: October 22 – March 11. _Underneath Lebreau had written out week one through eighteen. Hope gripped the piece of paper and sighed. _Eighteen weeks…that doesn't seem so long. _

"You might want to type that up when you're done and give it to her, so it looks more official," Lebreau added, tapping on the paper. "Now put it down so we can start planning. Oh! Don't forget to put down your contact information, work experience, what kind of materials she should bring to class—are you writing this down Hope?"

He jumped and snatched up the pen, flipped over the paper and began to scrawl. About halfway through writing, he paused, looking up from the paper. "Are you sure I really need all of this?"

"You want my help or not?" Hope grumbled and continued writing. Lebreau folded her arms across her chest. "Look, you aren't a trained teacher and you haven't been a chef for that long. You need to make yourself look good, or she's going to walk on you the first day."

"How are you so sure?" Maqui asked, removing his headphones again.

"I believe it," Rydgea agreed, "at least in Lightning's case."

"It's got to be official. I mean, if you were going to take a class, you wouldn't want to learn from some guy who doesn't know what he's doing."

Hope frowned, "But I don't know what I'm doing."

"Exactly," Lebreau said, wagging her finger and shaking her mane of chocolate brown hair, "which is why we're going to make you look like you know what you're doing." There was a collective 'oh' from the men at the bar and Lebreau rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Remind me how you got a job again?"

"Job placement."

"Don't smile about that," she snorted. "You wouldn't survive if you got fired from _Eden_. Well, never mind that. Let's get started."

"Lebreau?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think there's enough room on this paper," Hope frowned, holding the paper up and pointing to it. Maqui sighed and pushed his lap top onto the counter in front of Hope.

"Here. E-mail it to yourself and give it back to me when you're done."

"Are we ready now?" Lebreau asked impatiently.

Hope navigated through the computer, alternating between clicks and long pauses. "Yeah, let's start."

By the time they finished Hope's agenda, the little clock hanging above the kitchen doors read two-fifteen. The bar had been closed for almost an hour and Yuj already left, leaving Lebreau and Hope, who eventually moved to a nearby table, to finish sorting out ideas. Occasionally Rydgea chimed in, but usually it was just to tell them that he needed to close up shop for the night. Maqui, who had grudgingly waited for the return of his gaming laptop, was now asleep in the corner, passed out on an armchair. When Hope realized what time it was, he could have kicked himself.

"Okay I think we're done," Lebreau said at last. Hope felt a lack of sleep beginning to weigh him down: eyelids drooping, yawning. He scratched back of his head, repeating to Lebreau the schedule they had created.

"Week one: introductions. The purpose of the lessons is to learn how to hold and use a knife properly, and learn basic cuts. Student should also understand some basic sanitation within the kitchen. For homework, the student should practice their knife cuts for next class."

"Week two," Lebreau said, having long since memorized the list, "sauces—explain the five mother sauces. The menu for that day will be fettuccini alfredo with chicken and vegetables. It will incorporate the previous class techniques."

They continued to repeat the schedule back and forth to one another. Week three; meats and shopping for quality ingredients, week four; dry versus wet cooking methods. The list went on and on, including a few weeks of a pastry unit which Hope was rather looking forward to. He had typed up a separate sheet of paper explaining his work experience and other class expectations, like Lebreau had suggested.

"That took a really long time," Hope yawned as he attached the document to his email. Lebeau closed her eyes, resting her chin on her hand.

"At least it's done. You two sure picked a great time to start this up," Rydgea added dryly. He looked over to where Maqui was dozing in the corner, snoring loudly. "Will somebody go and wake him up? I'd like to leave now." Lebreau nodded and rose from her chair, making her way over to the sleeping blond. Hope shut down the laptop and closed it, finally standing up after the many hours of sitting at the table. His back was sore from leaning over so long, and his legs itched to move.

_I spend eight or more hours a day on my feet. Could have sworn it'd do me some good to actually sit down this long. _He placed his hands on his lower back, and pressed his shoulders down, cracking his spine. A loud grumbling noise from the opposite direction told him Maqui had been awakened, and he carefully picked up the computer.

"Here," said Hope, handing it to the half-asleep man. Maqui clumsily grabbed his laptop. His eyes were squinted, threatening to close at any given moment. "You got it?"

"Yeah…yeah," he replied, gripping it tighter as if to assure that he indeed was coherent enough to hold his computer. He let out a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Two twenty-five," said Lebreau, glancing at the clock. "I think we should call it a night."

"We should have called it a night hours ago," Maqui grumbled. "Unlike you guys, I have to get up at five thirty in the morning."

"Don't remind me," said Hope, also recalling what time he had to wake up. "We're still down two people this week and Fang wants me in early for prep work. I can't believe we actually did this tonight."

"At least you aren't as screwed as you were three hours ago," Lebreau countered.

Hope nodded. "True." They exited through the kitchen, Rydgea locking up behind them. Hope pulled his jacket from the closet, and stood quietly while everyone else gathered their belongings. The kitchen was even smaller compared to _Eden_'s, and somewhat poorly kempt—the fryers looked like they could a cleaning very soon. The sides of the machine were covered in a sticky black substance that made Hope grimace. Someone had forgotten to wipe down the stoves as well. There were bits of vegetables and dried noodles caked onto the surface.

"Hey Rydgea, I think you should crack down on the cleaning crew," Hope gestured to the stoves, "Looks like they skimped out on swabbing the deck thoroughly."

Rydgea leaned over to examine the stovetop and wrinkled his nose. "Damn kids. That's what you get for hiring high school brats I suppose." He returned to his cubby hole, and raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Hope, I don't even want to ask, but why are you still standing there?" asked Rydgea, wrapping a gray scarf around his neck. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, fishing around for his car key.

"I took the bus down to work today, and I left my subway pass at home," he replied, shrugging in his coat. Hope cracked a smile and his friends faces grew concerned. "So, who wants to take me home?"

There was a long silence and everyone shifted uncomfortably.

"Nose goes!" Maqui immediately brought a finger up to his nose, Lebreau following suit. Rydgea rolled his eyes and smacked Maqui upside the head. He yelped in surprise and promptly gave Rydgea the finger.

"That's coming out of your pay check."

Maqui made a face, "I don't even work here!"

Rydgea smirked. "Come on. I don't trust them driving you home anyways." He motioned for Hope to follow. "Maqui's still half asleep and you can Lebreau's driving skills based on the amount of dents on her fender."

Lebreau flushed a bright pink, "I haven't been in an accident in over a month!"

"Yeah, and last month it was three. Why haven't you gotten your license revoked yet?"

"Shut up." She punched him in the shoulder as he pushed open the back door. The cold air from the outside greeted them, biting at their cheeks. A dim light lit their path around the dumpsters, and they parted ways in the parking lot, Hope following Rydgea to his car.

"So, you really think you can pull this off?" He asked. The car engine hummed to life, and he adjusted the rear-view mirror before shifting the car into reverse. Hope gazed out the window—the city buildings surrounding them looming in the yellow street lights. He removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together to warm them.

"Probably not," said Hope, leaning against the window pane of the car.

"Have a little self confidence, would you?" Rydgea said, hanging a left at the stop light.

"Yeah..." Hope glanced out the window again, which was starting to fog over from his breath. _One more day…_

XXXXXXXXX

"Hello?" Serah's half-awake voice answered.

"It's me," said Lightning. She cursed herself for not having called her sister sooner. It was already eleven thirty. Plagued by the thoughts of the letter she had received during work had lead to an internal conflict as to tell Serah that she had been laid off. Lightning sat on her bed in and oversized t-shirt and sweat pants, pressed up against her back board.

"Hey Light, it's kind of late." The younger sister let a sleepy breath into the receiver. Lightning heard her maneuvering around, and a couple of grumbles from Snow. She could almost picture Serah rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and walking out of her room down to the kitchen for what she would assume to be a long conversation. "Is everything alright?"

She clutched a pillow against her chest, her bottom lip quivering. "Everything's-" Lightning took a deep breath and choked back a whimper, trying to fill in something instead of telling her sister what happened. "I'm having second thoughts about the cooking class Friday."

"You called me in the middle of the night for that?" Serah grumbled. Lightning tucked the pillow under her chin and clamped her eyes shut.

"Probably should have thought that one over," Lightning replied.

"Well what's done is done. Why are you having second thoughts?"

_Because I can't be wasting_ _my time playing house wife-because I need to start looking for a job again… _"It seems like a waste of time."

"Really Light? Because it doesn't seem like you ever do anything for yourself anymore. You just work, and work out," Serah snapped, but her voice caught in her throat. "Sorry I'm just…really tired. Rose refused to go to bed on time tonight. I have to run a bunch of errands in the morning."

"Understandable," said Lightning, leaning her head back. The walls in her room were a pale green color, rather soothing. It had been a long time since she noticed.

"I know you Sis, you're not the kind of person to just back out of something without a reason." Lightning became ridged at the thought of Serah coaxing information out of her. "And I understand if you don't want to tell me, you're not that kind of person either, which is rather unhealthy if you ask me, but moving to my point: forget about it. Whatever is ailing you dear sister, just forget about it. Take a little time out of your mundane routine and spend some time doing something new. I can guarantee you it will do you a world of good."

Serah pressed on, "Light, ever since Mom and Dad died, all you've done is fought to survive. You fought to get me through high school and college. You fought against the idea of me marrying Snow because you wanted what's best for me, and now you're fighting for something with this lifestyle of yours that you have no idea what you are even struggling for anymore. Go to the class. Get a fresh perspective on life. And for the love of all that is good in this world, don't call me at eleven thirty at night ever again, unless you are dying."

Even half-asleep, Serah never held back using her infinite wisdom. It always bothered her somewhat that she was the one always going to her younger sister for advice, but Lightning kept her tongue in cheek this time. "Poor strategy on my part, you've made your point."

"Apology accepted. If there's anything else you want to tell me, now's the time."

"No," she replied automatically. The lump in her throat grew to a point of suffocation and she swallowed hard to force it down. "That's all."

"Well if you change your mind, I'm always here…from seven to nine, Monday through Thursday. I'm open late on weekends through," Serah teased, giggling into the receiver. "Good night."

"Night." Lightning waited on the line until she heard the small click of indication that her sister had left her. She tossed the phone onto her nightstand, littered with granola bar wrappers and a half eaten cup of instant noodles—her dinner from earlier that evening. On any other day, it would have been in the trash in an instant. But tonight, the walk to her kitchen garbage seemed miles away. Reaching to her right, she groped for the remote and switched on her TV. Her chest still throbbed with the uneasy feeling of keeping the bad news to herself, but it would go away soon enough.

The TV garbled a string of incoherent sentences as she flipped through the channels rapidly; not bothering to pause and examine what was being aired. Lightning suddenly stopped, eyes widening, and flipped back a couple of channels.

"What the-" She increased the volume, the voices coming to a conversational level. On screen chefs were scurrying about, chopping and stirring and doing a bunch of other things she couldn't quite explain. Lightning continued to watch—the announcer made mention of something about a secret ingredient, and the camera panned to a man called 'the chairman', who eventually unveiled the ingredient in a rather cheesy and over glorified manner.

"Eggnog?" Lightning said aloud simultaneously with the TV. _How the hell can you make five dishes with eggnog? _She set the remote down and situated herself on her bed in a more comfortable position. _Huh…they're serving everything on ice sculptures. That's actually kind of cool. _Resting her cheek in her palm, she decided that she'd continue watching this ridiculous show. _Like there's anything better to do. _Yet it strangely kept her on the edge of her seat—so many different things were being cooked that she had never seen before. From what she gathered, this was a special episode of the show, seeing that both chefs were apparently iron chefs. The Japanese one was winning her favor though.

"That's…brilliant," Lightning gasped. The Japanese man had made one of his ice sculptures to be used for smoking a fish. _I would have never thought of that. A cold smoker…this guy is a genius. _By the time the show was over, Lightning was gripping her pillow again, anxiously awaiting the result of the judgment.

"Morimoto, Morimoto, Morimoto," she chanted the newly memorized name.

"And the winner is…" the TV replied to her. "Iron Chef Flay."

"Aw come on!" Lightning hissed, throwing her pillow at the TV. It missed its mark, hitting the wall with a small thump. She cleared her throat and quickly regained her composure; somewhat in disbelief she had watched this program as though it were a football match. _Well, I didn't even know I had a cooking channel. _About to turn off the television, another show began playing and Lightning paused, memorized by the colors of delicious looking food. She continued to watch, the remote unknowingly slipping through her hand until it plopped back onto her comforter. The night carried on with cooking show after cooking show: the buzz of the TV still humming in her mind as she drifted to sleep.

**Well that was the not-so-exciting chapter 3. I hope you guys enjoyed, and I always love reviews! By the way, if you've never watched Iron Chef and you have the food network on your local cable provider, I highly recommend it. It's epicly dorky and awesome. **

**Have a Merry Christmas (even if you don't celebrate, I still wish its good cheer and festiveness upon you). **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow. So Christmas was fun. I burnt myself twice in attempt to make croquembouche (a French dessert which is a tower of cream puffs) and I got a Hope play-arts figure (he is um, for lack of better words, shotalicious).**

**Thanks for all of those who reviewed! It means a lot for a little word of encouragement to keep me going. **

**The recipe used in this chapter was made by PHATCAT from allrecipes. **

**Vocabulary: toque - a chef's hat  
**

**Chapter 4**

The late afternoon air smelled of damp, decaying leaves mingling with the familiar scents of air pollution as Hope traversed from shop to shop, hunting down ingredients. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he shrunk down into his scarf as he crossed yet another busy street. It was an unusually cold day for October. Thus he had decorated his arms with multiple plastic bags filled with supplies in order to avoid his fingers from going completely numb. The sun was ready to tuck behind the tall buildings, giving the city a golden halo before it was immersed into shadows. Hope groaned when he felt his pocket begin to vibrate and stopped at the corner, sliding the two plastic bags off his right arm to fetch his phone.

"Hello?"

"Is everything going well? Are you there yet?" Chef Anya's voice filled his ear.

Hope shrugged his cell phone, picking up the bags he dropped. "Not yet. Hey—I wanted to thank you again for your punch pass to Brunoise." He slid the bags up his arm and returned the phone to his right hand, pressing forward. "I mean, those twelve week room passes aren't cheap."

"Well, you know it's only good for four weeks, seeing as I used up the other eight. I'm sorry I couldn't help more, but it's not like I'm going to be using it because of the baby," she explained. "It'll give you a place to start. By the way, did you get the order I sent you last night?"

Hope stopped at the crosswalk, "The wedding cake with the lilies? Yeah, I picked up the stuff while I was out. Yeah. If I have time, I'll work on it today." In addition to working at _Eden_, the occasional commission became available to him. It wasn't a steady source of income, but it helped supplement his paycheck enough to keep his bills paid. Anya was the one who usually sent clients to him for cakes or other pastries.

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye." Hope shut his phone and put his hand back into his pocket, wiggling his fingers to warm them. He reached Brunoise in a matter of minutes, relishing in the warmth as he stepped inside. It was a single floor building with a hall that stretched far beyond the entry room. The entry room itself was painted in a forest green, the walls lined with book shelves full of cookbooks and other items of interest. Over to the far left was a small French café where a few people sat talking over coffee and pastries. Hope exhaled and approached the front desk.

"Excuse me?" The girl situated at the desk ignored him, too engrossed in whatever hand-held game she was playing. Her nails were painted neon blue which matched the highlights in her hair. Hope cleared his throat and the girl glanced over her game at him. "I called about a room? It's for—"

"Name," she said, her focus returning to her game.

"Estheim, Hope," he answered, vocalizing his annoyance. The girl looked up at him again, snorted and rolled her eyes as she set her console down and pushed her rolling chair over to the computer. "You're in the julienne room, third one down on the right. This is for…four weeks on Friday from four thirty to seven. You got a pass?"

Hope nodded, digging into his back pocket and pulled out the laminated card, handing it to the girl. By now she was playing her game again and with one hand, punched his card and returned it to him.

"Thanks," said Hope, not surprised when there was no response. Still clutching the card, he headed down the hall. Adjacent to the door was an observation window, about double the width of the door. Hope peered into the window but the lights were off, and the hall lights were not ample enough to allow one to see in clearly. Returning to the door, Hope reached for the handle.

It was locked.

Hope growled and kicked the door as he violently jostled the knob. "Come on," he groaned. _You would think they'd have better service up front. _

"Here." Hope jumped backwards as the girl from the front desk seemingly spawned from nowhere and unlocked his door. She gave him a look, as though it were unusual for Hope to appear like he had just suffered a heart attack. "I would have let you have the key but I was afraid you would have broken it." If his hand had been free at that moment, he would have promptly smacked it against his forehead. Instead he sighed and entered the room, setting down his belongings at the nearest table.

The julienne room consisted nothing more of a table with four chairs, a long counter space extending out of the wall, and the very basics: stove, fridge, sink and the like. Hope stretched and took the first haul of groceries over to the refrigerator to unload. _At least they have the decency to provide cookware. _Hope noted a row of frying pans fixed to metal hooks on the wall. He began pulling equipment from drawers—two cutting boards, a bowl and then went into his own bag for two chef knives. Once all the equipment was carefully arranged, Hope withdrew a beaten up ipod dock form his bag, mostly held together by duct tape, and set it down on the table.

"Well, that's everything," said Hope, tying on his apron. He had pulled his untamable hair out of his face with hairclips—the only method that allowed him to see what he was doing when his toque wasn't available. Hope stared at the tools he had laid out the counter and the packages of gumpaste to his left. "Might as well get started on that." Reaching over, he turned on his ipod, the room soon filled with the blaring sounds of his music. Hope grinned, bobbing his head in sync with the song as tore open the plastic package and started to knead his gumpaste.

XXXXXXX

Lightning stood outside the storefront, holding up the crinkled slip of paper to once again verify she indeed had the correct address. After spending the entire morning emailing resumes to various companies, it felt strange that she should venture out of her home to come here. She pushed through the doors, a wave of heat welcoming her inside. Lightning shrugged out of her jacket and surveyed her surroundings—the front was some sort of gift shop/café, a rather stereotypical marketing strategy. With jacket draped over her arm, she approached the desk.

"I'm here for a cooking class," Lightning announced. She wrinkled her nose at the girl who was busying herself with a videogame. _I don't have time for this…_

Lightning slammed her palm down on the counter and the receptionist gave her a rather dirty look. "How may I help you?" she asked monotonously.

_What is it with kids these days and not doing their job? _"Cooking class, teacher's name is-" Lightning glanced down at the piece of paper which held the information Serah gave her. "Hope Estheim."

The girl snorted, "Julienne room, third on the right."

Lightning shook her head and carried down the corridor, resisting the urge to snatch the video game out of the girl's hand and crush it under her shoe. Her body stiffened as she approached the room and licked her lips. _I could get out of this right now. Just turn around and walk out the door. _Lightning folded her arms under her chest and leaned against the wall. She glanced to her left, the door down the hall inviting her to leave.

_**"-melting under blue skies,**_

_** Belting out the sunshine shimmering love-"**_

She snapped her head in the direction of the room, registering the sound of music escaping underneath the door. Curiosity pulling her along, Lightning craned her neck far enough just to peak into the window without being seen. There were only two things to make note of: the first being the lily petals on the small wooden table that was butted against the window. They were so beautiful, Lightning had to re-examine them multiple times to realize they were not real. The second thing to make note of was the occupant of the room.

Bent over at the counter was a young man in his early twenties. It was neither his mop of white-silver hair, nor the way he delicately handled the tool he was using to craft a flower petal that kept her attention on him. Rather, the fact that he was swaying to the music, completely absorbed in it as he belted the lyrics out of key with the song. One could be partially deaf and still hear his squawking melody.

So Lightning stood, watching silently, doubting her sister's capability to do anything correctly. Whether Serah's actual motive had been to find a professional instructor to teach her how to cook, or her to set her up with another guy, both appeared to have the potential for complete disaster. If it weren't for the confusion, the disappointment, and the possibility of betrayal, Lightning supposed she might have laughed. Yes—a male chef singing and swaying his hips to a song while making a flower petal out of some doughy substance could have been quite amusing. The sunflower hair clip that held his hair out of his face certainly didn't add to the image. She hadn't even realized that she moved from peeking to standing center and staring directly into the window.

_**"These lines of light-" **_He looked up from his work, catching sight of her and the fourth wall shattered. The man's voice died in his throat quickly, like a gunshot to the head, and his face immediately burned scarlet.

_Highly embarrassing situation—turn around and walk away, _the little voice inside her head instructed. Lightning turned heel and prepared to flee just as the music cut out and the door swung open. He grabbed her by the arm before she could even take a step forward.

"I…uh…" She spun around. With a blush still settled on his cheeks, he continued to grip her sleeve, "s-sorry about that. I guess I lost track of time."

Lightning's eyes narrowed, and she wrenched loose of his grip, holding her ground. "I don't know what my sister told you, but I'm not interested." She scoffed, and turned again, making her way towards the exit.

"Hold on a second!" He called after her and caught her again by the arm. She jerked away violently, giving him a fierce look that could easily melt holes in his brain. "Just…wait a second—before you jump to any conclusions, what do you mean 'you're not interested'?"

Lightning sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Are you really that dense? Look, I don't care how much my sister paid you to set you up with me, I don't want-"

"-Is that what you think this is?" Hope interjected. Lighting's eyes widened as she stared at him. "You honestly believe this is some sort of date?"

"Well with Serah, you really never can tell," she snapped back at him, folding her arms across her chest. There was a span of silence between them until she spoke again. "Though now that I think about it, it does seem highly unlikely that she'd set me up with a flower-making pansy boy like yourself."

"They're supposed to be lilies, actually," he retorted, brushing off her sharp insult. The man ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed. "Fine, just—I'll leave okay? Pack up my things. This never happened…can't believe I agreed to this in the first place."

"Agreed to what?"

He gave her a look, "Cooking lessons. Your sister asked me to teach you. I…I though you would have known that."

Lightning averted her eyes to her left, biting her lip. "I did. Just…it wasn't what I expected."

"Well," he shrugged, eyes moving from the floor to Lightning and back to the floor. "Sorry I didn't meet your expectations." The chef headed back into the room, leaving her standing outside. She hesitated for a moment before following him, stopping at the door way.

"So that's it?" she asked. The man caught her gaze again. Lightning noticed he was surprisingly easy to read, much like a child. Few defenses surrounded his emotions, and there was a distinct frankness about him that very few people had. Lightning found it to be somewhat refreshing.

"It's up to you, I guess," he replied. The man leaned against the wall and gestured to the flower petals. "Even if you leave, you can see that I do have a use for this room. I was working on an order for a cake until you got here."

Lightning swallowed and took a step into the room, "You're a pastry chef then?"

"Yeah, over at _Eden,_" he confirmed. The man shifted in his spot, and then walked back to the counter, taking a seat on a bar stool as he picked up his tool and began working again. Lightning grounded herself two steps from the doorway, resisting the urge to have a closer look.

_Eden…why does that name sound familiar?_ "So, what is you're making again?"

"Gumpaste lilies," he responded not bothering to look up from what he was doing. The focus he harbored seemed to be forced, as if trying to ignore her presence. Looking at him, she felt a little over dressed in a pair of heels, dark slacks, and some blouse that had been sitting in the back of her closet until Serah came over and dragged it out, insisting she should wear it. He was in jeans and a quarter-sleeve shirt, kept clean by a navy blue apron covered in white powder.

"Is that what that is? The white dough?"

"Yeah." He picked up the petal very gently, setting it over a long, cylinder and cut out a second petal with a knife.

Lightning felt completely awkward watching him at a distance, uncertain as whether to leave or stay. "What are all these flowers for anyways?"

"A customer called in today and commissioned me for a wedding cake," he replied, picking up a piece of wire and slowly pushing it into the petal. After the wire was in, he took the petal and pressed it into some sort of mold.

"So, who is Hope Estheim then?" This time he stopped and looked up from his work with confused green eyes. Lightning fished into her pocked and removed the piece of paper, walked up to the counter and laid it down next to him. "This is the information Serah gave me, but you don't look like-"

"I am," he said.

Lightning raised an eyebrow. "Your name is Hope?"

"Yes."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Isn't that a-"

"-girls name, yes, don't even let me start on how many people ask me that question," said Hope, who shook his head and continued on the petal. "So are you staying…Lightning, isn't it? That's what your sister said you preferred to be called."

"Call me Light."

"Okay, Light." Lightning cringed. It sounded strange coming from his mouth. "Are you staying?"

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"Alright, I'll stay," she corrected. Much to her surprise, he cracked a smile. It threw her off-guard, and she remained quiet as he picked up the things he was working on and set them over on the table.

"Er, now that that's settled. I'm-well, I guess you already know my name," he shuffled through his bag in the corner and retrieved a small packet of papers, handing them to her. "This is the course syllabus...sort of. It's got my name and information, what we'll be doing each class session—that kind of stuff. Do you, uh, have any questions for me?"

Lightning skimmed over the packet, shaking her head. "No, I think I'm good."

"Right then," he maneuvered over to a chair, picked up a bundle of red fabric and handed it to her. "There's your apron. You'll want to tie up your hair and wash your hands before we start. We'll be going over basic knife skills and sanitation, unless you already know that, which in that case I guess we could just skip to week two's stuff…how much do you know about cooking exactly?"

"Well," Lightning began as she tied on the apron. "I can make toast, but it usually comes out black. I can boil water for instant noodles. There was this one time I tried making macaroni from a box, it didn't turn out so well." She was surprised when she felt heat rise to her cheeks, suddenly aware of the fact that she was probably being scrutinized by this guy. "So I'd say no experience." She removed a hair tie from her wrist, holding it between her teeth while she pulled her hair back.

"Great," said Hope, setting a wooding cutting board down in front of her. She frowned and finished tying her hair back.

"How is that great?"

"It means I don't have to spend another late night re-arranging the schedule," he chuckled. Hope grabbed two paper towels and wetted them under the sink, handing one to her.

She grimaced, taking hold of the slippery wad. "What's this for?" Hope held his own wad out in front of her, and then brought it to the sink, squeezing the excess water out of it. He then shook it out, and set it down on the counter, picked up the cutting board and set it over the top of the wet paper towel.

"See this?" He proceeded to push on the board, but it didn't budge. "And now yours." He pushed on her cutting board and it slid a few inches forward, "keeps it from sliding around."

"That's actually pretty useful," Lightning commented, following the same procedure Hope had done with the towel, "wouldn't exactly want that sliding out under me with a knife." He tapped her on the shoulder, and held up the first two fingers on his left hand. Lightning could make out a thin white line on both of them just below his nail.

"I learned that mistake a while ago. Actually had to go the hospital for that one, I cut right down to the bone, but at least I didn't cut them off," he smiled and made his way over to the refrigerator.

Lightning swallowed, glancing at her own hand. "Have people?"

"Oh yeah, I've seen it happen before," Hope's muffled voice came from inside the fridge, and he returned with an arm full of vegetables, and set them down on the counter. He caught her horrified expression and let out a small laugh. "Don't worry; it was only when they weren't maintaining proper safety procedures. That or they weren't paying attention. You're safe with me." He gave her a small playful nudge to the arm.

"Huh," said Lightning as he set a knife down on her cutting board. _I sure as hell hope so._ Frowning, she picked up the knife, turning it over in her hand to examine it. Including the handle, it ran a little shorter than the length of her forearm out to her pinky.

"You know it's a good knife when it's balanced properly," he explained, and placed the part of the handle meeting the blade to balance on his finger. "Also, the metal should run all the way through the handle, it's called a full tang. Always used a forged steel blade—usually if the knife is stamped, it won't have a bolster. It's the thick part of the blade just before the handle. A good, sharp knife is the key to any kitchen. If it's dull, you're going to exert a lot more force and probably cut yourself. Not to mention any vegetable you cut will probably bruise."

"So I just… cut it?" She curled her fingers under, thumb resting on top of the handle.

"Don't hold it like that; it's not Excalibur—er, not like that either. Keep your finger off the top of the blade." Hope sighed, and moved in next to her, "Here, like this. The top of your hand is facing the ceiling; choke up your hand on the blade, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger. Think of it as an extension of your hand."

Lightning snorted, "We're not sword fighting."

"Yes, but you do want good control over it, as if you were," said Hope, and returned back to his cutting board. "Alright, now we're going to cut the top off of the onion, because if you notice," Hope grabbed the onion and tried to stand it up on its side, but the vegetable rolled the moment it was released. "Not a very stable thing to cut. You always want to have a base for whatever you're cutting. Hold the onion down, start with the back of the blade and pull toward you as you cut. This is a slice. You always want to go from the closest part of the blade to you ending at the tip." Lightning watched as he cut the top of the onion off, and discarded into a metal bowl set on the counter. "Also—scrap bowl. Very useful so you don't have a mess on the counter."

"I feel like I should be taking notes," she said, and rested the edge of the blade on her onion. She exerted not but a small amount of pressure and pulled back, the top of the onion slicing right off. Her eyes widened and she marveled at the blade. "These things really are sharp."

Hope nodded. "Yeah, they're Japanese forged steel. Made the same way they make samurai swords." He smiled and set the onion cut-side down on the board. "Okay, this time we're going to slice it in half one more time, but this time I want you to use a bear claw." He held out his hand in front of her and flexed his fingers into a claw-like shape. "Keep your fingers curled under so the knife can rest up against your knuckles, and keep your thumb back. It will prevent you from cutting your fingers off and also provide a guide for the knife. You're going to use your thumb and finger to feed the onion through the knife. The knife doesn't move, just the food." Hope sliced the onion in half again, and with the root facing left, he began slowly slicing the onion, and then readjusting his fingers to make a second slice—his left thumb pushing the food up and his hand rocking back and forth.

"Go slowly for now, but eventually-" He picked up his pace, Lightning's eyes widening as the knife flashed up and down rhythmically. "You'll get comfortable going much faster."

"Like those guys on Iron Chef," said Lightning. Hope looked up at her, puzzled. She swallowed, "Morimoto—he cuts things really fast. I couldn't believe how quickly they do that." Lightning curled her fingers under, resting her knuckles on the onion. "This feels weird." She began slicing the onion slowly, trying to mimic Hope's motions of readjusting the thumb to feed the onion through the blade.

"So, you've watched Iron Chef?" Hope asked as she finished cutting the onion down the root. Lightning nodded, not looking up from the delicate process, "Iron Chef America or Iron Chef Japan."

"America, I think," she said.

"Ah, well, I have to insist that you watch the original. Morimoto was also in that," Hope beamed. "We-I mean, I could lend you the DVDs sometime if you want."

She finished off the onion and glanced at him. "Sure." For a second, she wondered if he might have been trying to invite her over, but she quickly dismissed the thought. All men usually found her intimidating. If not, they would quickly learn. _This guy doesn't seem scared. _It was an odd though that floated into her mind and left her with a strange taste in her mouth.

Hope circled around her and picked up bits of onion, examining them. "Pretty good for your first time—try to keep your cuts a little more even."

Lightning's eyes narrowed, "You know, before today I never even picked up a kitchen knife."

"Or else you probably won't be here in the first place," he noted with a half-smile. "Come on; let me teach you how to dice."

Lightning spent the remainder of her time watching Hope show her different methods of cutting—after slicing and dicing, she had picked up a piece of paper and started making notes. Now she understood the name of the place: brunoise, it was a knife cut where you cubed the food to about three millimeters in size. You first had to julienne the vegetable, the name of their room, before you started the cut. Ultimately, you ended up with either cubes or sticks; it was different fancy names that confused her.

After knife skills, Hope put all the vegetables into a plastic container and they began to wash dishes, while he briefly explained sanitation. "Why did you save all those vegetables?" Lightning asked, accepting a bowl from him and began wiping it dry.

"Why would I waste it?" He continued scrubbing the wooden board down. "Lesson two: never waste anything. I'm using those leftovers for dinner." At the mention of dinner, Lightning felt hunger gnaw at her empty stomach, and cringed at the thought of going home and eating more instant noodles. Hope eyed her when she stopped drying, "Everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" She replied curtly and snapped her focus back to drying dishes.

"You got this look on your face." He opened his mouth slightly and his eyes became unfocused, forming a blank expression, "Something to that effect. You seemed so concentrated up until that point; it just looked out of place."

"It isn't any of your business," said Lightning sharply.

"I know…I was just asking," he reached his hand down into the sink and pulled the stopper, the water started to drain. "What were you thinking about anyways?"

"Tch," she scoffed, setting the last dish in the dish rack. Lightning wrinkled her nose, "I don't get why you're so...I was just, thinking about dinner when you mentioned it."

Hope laughed, much to Lightning's annoyance. "I can't get how you'd get so defensive about that. It's just dinner." She felt a steady anger building in her, a vein throbbing in her temple at his obnoxious grin.

"For you maybe, but you don't succumb to eating Chinese take-out and cup noodles and frozen pizza every night for dinner because you can't cook for yourself. And now it's going to just be cup noodles because I lost my job-" Lightning covered her mouth with her hand, a heat spreading to her cheeks. She bit down hard on her lip to the point where she tasted blood. _Damn it. Damn it. I can't just believe I said that, damn it. _

"Hold on—you lost your job?" Hope repeated to confirm what she had let slip out. Lightning turned away from him, furious with herself. She had now opened herself up to endless questions which she had no intention of answering.

"I'll go now," Lightning mumbled. She un-tied her apron, tossing it over a chair and picked up her belongings, leaving Hope staring at her with his mouth open.

"You-hey, wait a second," he rushed to the doorway, blocking her from escaping. Lightning glowered, attempting to size him up, but he had a good head-height on her.

"Move," she commanded, trying to push his arm out of the way. It wouldn't budge.

"Could you wait a minute?"

"Either you move or I'm going to make you move," she snapped, attempting again to shove him aside. "I don't have time for this. I only came here because my sister begged me to, when I should have been-" she was about to say 'job-hunting', but caught herself this time. Lightning already had enough of this—she didn't need some kid prying into her personal life when it didn't need it.

"Are you even coming back?" he asked, staring her down with his bright green eyes.

"Don't think so," she huffed and jammed her elbow into his stomach. He doubled over and she stomped out the room.

"So that's it then?" He called out to her. "You're just giving up?"

Lightning stopped, "If you're going to keep asking me about my personal problems, then yes. It ends now." She heard his footsteps treading down the hall, and he soon caught up to her.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were the one who told me that you got laid off," he said.

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't asked what was wrong," she snapped.

"Look," he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. "I'm sorry I pried—it wasn't any of my business." He avoided her eyes and let go of her shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me for dinner."

Lightning's eyes narrowed, "You—Serah _did_ try to set me up with you-"

"-No!" he interjected, frowning at her. "No, nothing like that at all." Hope sighed, wringing his hands. "You said you lost your job so I figured you might prefer eating something substantial, rather than instant ramen." Hope sighed. "You sure do jump to conclusions rather quickly."

"Trust is pointless. The instant you let someone closer than an arm's length in, something goes wrong" she lectured him. "Think about that the next time you decide to give that doe-eyed look to a complete stranger and invite them into your home."

"So, do you want come with me or not?"

"No."

She heard him sigh, "Are you coming back next week?"

It was a fair question, but Lightning really hadn't contemplated the answer for that. She wasn't prepared for a myriad of stupid questions regarding her private issues. Nor was she thrilled by the prospect of getting to know this strange pansy-boy chef, but the thought of eating frozen dinners and ramen for the next few months made her gag. _If I stick around long enough, pick up a few things, I won't need to keep coming back. _Yet despite the incident, Lightning felt that she had learned a few things from Hope.

"Yes," she finally answered him.

"Good," he responded. He ducked out of the hall back into the room and ran back out, handing her a box. "This is one of mine; I want you to borrow it and practice at home." Lightning halfheartedly accepted the knife and continued heading out the door.

"So can I at least bring you something to eat?"

"Whatever," she called back. Lightning exited Brunoise and sighed, staring down at the box in her hands. She hadn't been this agitated in a while. It seemed like everything about this guy bothered her: his attitude, his stupid smile that reminded her of her sister's idiot of a husband, and the way he brushed off her insults like they hadn't even been said. She found herself angry, just because he hadn't become angry with her when she started pushing his buttons.

"Stupid kid," she mumbled to herself, treading down the dark towards the bus stop. _After all that, he lends me his personal knife. It's probably worth a couple hundred dollars. How the hell can he just be so trusting like that? _Lightning knew that it was people like Hope Esthiem who were shattered when something bad actually happened to them. He was probably the ignorant type of kid—loving mother and father, average sized social circle: no hardships, no heartache. It reminded her of how she used to be: careless, ignorant…happy—when she had been Claire, not Lightning. Perhaps that's why she found him so downright frustrating.

She reached the bus in time, the doors of the vehicle opening with a mechanical swish. Pushing aside the thoughts of the cooking lesson, she took a seat near the back of the bus and situated herself sideways to stare out the window.

_Have to focus on the goal—have to get a job._

The ride home was relatively short, as was the walk from the bus stop to her apartment. Lightning sighed as she flipped on the lights and set Hope's knife on the ledge near her door before removing her shoes. She had left her hair pulled back and quickly removed that too, shaking her pink curls loose. They fell back into their usual spot over her left shoulder, sticking out at odd-angles from being held up by a hair tie for hours. Lightning tossed her keys into the ceramic bowl on her counter. It had been a birthday present from her niece last year, rather, Snow had paid for it and Rose had picked it out. The bowl was pink, with a picture of a cartoon penguin painted on. It looked entirely out of place in her apartments, but she couldn't bring herself to ever throw it out or give it away.

After raiding her mostly empty fridge, she sat down at her couch with laptop and her spoils, consisting of half a peanut butter sandwich and bruised up apple. Lightning adjusted herself on the couch, and stared down at her apple, then her eyes shifted over to the ledge where the knife sat.

_Don't even think about it, _she told herself. Lightning bit into her sandwich and flipped open her laptop, waiting as it hummed to life. _I should be grateful I even had peanut butter in that fridge, let alone the bread wasn't moldy. Besides, what can you make with just one apple?_

"So you can make apple sauce with just one apple," she sighed, unable to believe she had spent twenty minutes looking up a recipe online. It looked like a relatively simple one that used only apples, water, sugar and cinnamon. There was even a calculator on the website that allowed her to downsize the recipe to one serving. So instead of sending out more resumes, she was now standing at the counter in her kitchen with a recipe taped to cabinet door. There were only two pans in her cabinet, one of which actually had a lid as well as a set of old measuring spoons Serah had left at her apartment a long while ago. The inside of the pan was covered in a fine layer of dust and had to be washed first. Lightning was also surprised to find cinnamon sitting in her near empty spice rack, buried behind salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, and garlic powder.

Once she set everything next to her stove, she placed the pan on top and read the directions out loud, "In a sauce pan, combine all ingredients over medium heat. Cover and cook for fifteen to twenty minutes. Allow to cool, then mash with a fork or potato masher." Lightning looked down at her array of ingredients and back to the recipe, "sounds easy enough."

She measured out the ingredients, but not before consulting with her computer as to what 'TSP' and 'TBSP' stood for. Lightning stared down at the knife, which she had removed from the box. The only cutting board at her apartment wasn't much wider than a foot, and she never had used it before. It was also made from plastic—not like the wooden ones she used in class.

"Well." she stared at the apple, trying to figure out how to cut it. "It needs a base." She cut the top of the apple and set down on the cutting board, like she had with the onion, cutting it in half again. _Crap, there are seeds in apples. _She looked back to the recipe, in hopes of some instruction. _And I forgot to peel it first. Ugh. _Lightning started to pull open random drawers, unable to find any sort of vegetable peeler. _I guess I could cut the peel off…_She picked up the knife again, carefully cutting close to the peel until she had reduced the apple to three-fourths its original size. Lightning sighed and did similarly with the seeds, cutting that part of the apple off until she couldn't see them anymore. As she worked on the second half, her fingers slipped and she nicked the tip of her finger.

Lightning cursed under her breath, grabbing the nearest towel and pressing it against her open wound to stop the bleeding. She maneuvered over to the bathroom, swearing again when she stumbled over her laptop bag and kicked the door open, running her finger under water as she rummaged around for a bandage.

"Okay, cooking without supervision—bad idea," Lightning grumbled and patched up her cut two minutes after it decided to stop bleeding. She returned to the kitchen, the apple on the cutting board mocking her. _What a waste time. Probably should have just eaten the damn thing in the first place. _She picked up a half of the apple, about to bring it to her mouth when she sighed and placed it down on the cutting board. With knife in hand, she attempted the seed thing once more.

After not so successfully dicing the apple into misshapen pieces, she placed them in the pan, put the lid on, and turned on her stove. The stove clicked several times before a huge burst of flames exploded from the burner, causing her to jump back. Taking a deep breath she drew back to her place, turning down the heat.

"Okay, don't burn," she glared at the pan, and started to run water for dishes. Between washing, she frequently checked on the apples to make sure they were not turning into charred black bits. The twenty minutes dragged on, but at last, Lightning removed the pan from the stove and opened the lid.

"Ouch," she withdrew her hand, shaking it where the steam burner her fingers. _Well, at least they aren't burnt. _Once cool, she removed the apples from the pan and put them in a bowl, mashing them up with a fork. Lightning put the fork in the sink and brought the bowl of apple sauce back to her couch.

"Not bad." She took another spoonful. It was a little too sweet, but that was probably because she shaved the apple down to half its size. That aside, it was the first time in her life she had actually cooked something successfully. Unfortunately it didn't last more than a few bites, and paired with the sandwich, it left her still very hungry.

_Guess I'm having ramen, _Lightning sighed and finished filling out another work application before closing her laptop. A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts and she, turned her head, wondering if she had been hearing things. Another knock followed. She set her computer down on her coffee table and walked up to her door to open it.

It had started to rain again, but there was no one outside. She shivered, taking a few steps forward to look around, until her foot brushed up against something. Looking down, there was a plate covered in foil with a note fixed to it. She bent down and read the note as she brought the plate inside.

_Light,_

_ Didn't exactly get a straight answer from you, but here's some left over pasta and a dinner roll. Thought you might like it. See you next Friday,_

_ Hope_

_ P.S. I only know your house address because Serah gave me your contact information, Believe me it's more awkward for me than it probably is for you._

Lightning shut the door behind her, and re-read the note twice. The plate was still warm; it couldn't have been long since he dropped it off. She pulled back the foil ever so slightly, the smell of onions and tomatoes reminding her of how hungry she actually was. _I guess he wasn't joking when he asked if he could drop off some food later. _

When Lightning sat down again, she picked up a fork and started to eat: bow-tie pasta in a creamy red sauce with chicken, bell peppers and onions. The sauce was buttery and rich, but had a slight tang to it. Lightning smiled, savoring the sweetness of the tomato on her tongue. She finished the entire plate, including the flakey soft bread roll.

_Well, he may be an idiot, but he sure knows how to cook. _Lightning sighed, staring at the packet on her table. She picked it up, and read the first page, then reached for her phone.

"Hello?"

"Uh…" Lightning's voice trailed off. "It's Light."

"Oh," Hope's voice was rather surprised. "How's it going?"

"I wanted to um, thank you. For the food that is," she felt her cheeks burn.

"No problem."

"See you Friday," she said and hung up, clutching her forehead. _I have no idea why I did that. _But the food had been delicious and she had been hungry. The last person to drop homemade food off at her house was Serah, and that had been a long time ago.

"Well, better get back to work."

**XXXXXX**

**I apologize if the chapter seemed a bit choppy; will do better on the next one. By the way, making gumpaste flowers is not as easy as I thought it would be. So hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. See you next time.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well I'm back for the every enthralling chapter 5 installment of Comme il faut (by the way, if you can give me an accurate translation for that in a review, you will win a fabulous virtual cookie!)**

**Speaking of cookies, Shattered Dragonfly gets a cookie for naming the song played by Hope's ipod in chapter 3. (Presents cookie to you) The song lyrics were from Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows: after hours of contemplation, I thought it the best song to be playing. **

**Without further ado, chapter 5!**

**Chapter 5:**

Every bar and restaurant on Third Street was packed Friday evenings, people from out of town taking a pilgrimage into the city for fine dining and partying. So it wasn't much of a surprise that The Lindblum was over capacity with customers as Hope entered the pub and struggled to find a seat at the bar. He caught the rain coming from Light's place to the bar, his sweater damp and his hair dripping.

"Hope?" Lebreau asked over the noise of the patrons. He cracked Lebreau a weak smile as he sat down at the bar with a squelch and removed his outerwear. "I thought you weren't coming in. Is it raining outside?"

"No, I decided to shower with my clothes on before I came here," he rolled his eyes, mussing up his wet hair.

"You want a coffee or something? You're shaking like a leaf," she said with a frown. He

nodded, teeth chattering and rubbed his arms. Lebreau flagged down Yuj, sending him back to the kitchens for Hope's drink. "So, how'd it go?"

Hope bit his lip, "Slightly less than good."

"So it was bad."

"Not exactly," he reached out and took the napkin she offered him, using it to wipe the droplets from his face. "There were some parts that went okay, others weren't so good." Lebreau raised an eyebrow and Hope shrugged. "I can't really describe it any better. She isn't like how I pictured her through, the way Rydgea described."

"She?"

"Light," answered Hope. Lebreau went to wait on a customer and turned her back to him as she began pulling bottles from the shelf behind her. He watched her as she poured green syrup into the glass, added ice and then rum. "I mean he was right about the glare—but they way Rydgea put it I thought I was going to be putting up with a cold hearted bitch."

"Hope, let me tell you a secret—all women are bitches."

"She's right," a middle-aged man slurred next to him. Hope's eyes widened as the man leaned in towards him with a reddened face. He held up beefy finger, wagging it at Hope "You gotta make the right moves if you wanna bang her without her going crazy on ya."

"T-thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Hope shifted uncomfortably as the man gave him an uncoordinated pat on the back of the head, probably aimed for his back. Lebreau snickered and inclined her head towards another table where Maqui was situated.

"Jazz, can you keep an eye on the bar for me? I need to take a break." The other bartender, a petite girl with flaming red hairs nodded her head and the two women swapped places, Lebreau exiting out the little gate that prevented customers from entering behind the bar.

"Hey, how goes the cooking lessons?" Maqui removed his head phones, taking a long drink of his soda. "Did she curdle you with her death glare?" As he said the word 'death glare' he wrinkled his nose and thrust his jaw foreword, squinting his eyes in a mocking fashion.

"Yes, your grandma glare is horrifying," Lebreau joked and narrowed her eyes. "Maqui, if Hope had been turned to curds, he wouldn't be here."

"He could've got better," the blond boy suggested. Hope took a seat across from him and Maqui promptly pushed a checkerboard plastic basket piled high with something iridescent yellow and oozing. "Nacho?"

"Um, no thanks I just ate," Hope declined. The color in his face drained and he nudged the basket full of radio-active cheese back to Maqui. He had been feeling a little peckish, but not for anything that looked like it would rape his digestive track.

"Your loss dude," Maqui shrugged, slurping down a mound of sauce, jalapenos, onions, tomatoes and a chip that was unable to be seen but was obviously holding up all the ingredients on top.

Lebreau made a face, "I don't even know how you can eat those."

"Cast iron-stomach, baby," he grinned, patting down his stomach. Maqui's face lit up, slapping a hand down on the table. "This needs hot sauce." Lebreau and Hope simultaneously grimaced as he snagged the nearest bottle of hot sauce and poured it methodically over the top of his nachos, moving in a back and forth drizzling motion so that every nook and cranny was covered. Just then, Yuj rounded the table and set down Hope's coffee in front of him, immediately slapping Maqui upside the head.

"I told you not to eat that stuff," Yuj snapped. Maqui jutted his lip forward, pouting. The blue haired man crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. "The apartment becomes inhabitable for days."

Maqui laughed at his roommate, "Aw, come on—I have a cast- iron stomach."

"Cast-iron stomach my left foot," said Yuj and removed the plate of nachos, Maqui shouting in protest as the waiter whisked them away. "No—I am not going to be there tonight when you're crying in the bathroom and our room smells like a dead skunk that just rolled in a sewer."

Lebreau covered her eyes, "Please, too much information." She gestured back to Hope, who had begun slowly sipping at his coffee. "Let's talk about Hope's problems: far more interesting, way not as disgusting."

"How are my problems interesting?" Hope complained, choking on his drink. It was one of the few decent things on the menu, besides the onion rings. He pounded his chest, coughing and cleared his throat. "Nothing really happened."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Your lessons with…um…Thunder-"

"Lightning," Hope corrected.

Maqui pointed a finger at Hope, "Right. Some sort of weather thing. Forgot which one."

"So, what was she like?" Yuj asked, fidgeting. "I mean, was she really as scary as Rydgea said she was?"

Hope shook his head. "It was like…she doesn't want to get close to anyone, or is afraid to. She almost walked out on me twice for thinking her sister paid me off to go out with her."

"Not your problem," said Maqui, helping himself to a piece of bread that was set out on the table. He made a grab for the hot sauce again, drowning the slice of baguette. "The lady has issues, it's just a matter of whether you can put up with them or not. Can you?"

Maqui had a point—Light's issues were something he was going to be struggling to put up with. The woman had just lost her job and Hope sort of felt for her. It wasn't so much pity as it was an understanding of what she would be facing the next few months. He was expecting the class not to last much more than a few weeks with current situation, and wondered if Serah would keep her word despite circumstances. "I think I'll manage."

"See? There's that missing optimism," Lebreau teased. She glanced at the bar and waved to the boys. "I'll see you in a few, looks like we're busy again."

Hope felt his focus slip away from the group again. Somehow he couldn't get her off his mind—that one instant where she had looked frightened and vulnerable. It brought up painful memories of his mother's death, a time where he too had felt frightened and vulnerable.

"The last thing you want is pity, you don't want to feel week," Hope mumbled to himself.

"You say something?" Maqui asked. Hope shook his head. He hadn't brought up that he drove over to her apartment to drop off dinner, because he then would have had to give the guys an explanation. It didn't seem like a bright idea in Hope's mind to share information that a person unintentionally divulged to him. There had also been that awkward phone conversation. Hope thought of her stammering into the phone to thank him, which brought a smile to his face. At least he had done something right today. He sure wasn't as confident in his teaching abilities.

"Hope?"

"What?" Hope's attention was brought back to the table, where Lebreau had reclaimed her seat.

Lebreau smirked, "You were spacing out, grinning like an idiot." She reached over the table and gave him a nudge. "What'cha thinking about?"

"Nothing really," he replied quickly.

Lebreau gave him a flat stare.

"Do I always have to be thinking about something?" Hope said in his defense, using every ounce of his will power to subdue the blush creeping into his cheeks. Lebreau just chuckled. Hope finished up his coffee and mindlessly began spinning the mug between his fingers. "You'll be happy to know that I drove here tonight."

"I think Rydgea will be even happier," she laughed, tossing her hair. "He's the one who keeps ending up having to drive you home."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"So, are you looking forward to next Friday?"

Hope rested his chin thoughtfully in the palm of his hand, and a small smile formed on his face. "I think I actually am."

XXXXXXXX

"Here, let me help you with those."

Lightning scooped up a handful of plates into her arms, following her sister into the kitchen. They had just finished a rather late Sunday night dinner. Snow was preoccupied carrying Rose up to bed—the little girl had fallen during dinner, mouth still half full of mashed potatoes.

"You can set them down on the counter," Serah instructed. Lightning nodded and deposited her load to the left of the kitchen sink. The younger Farron sister hummed, running a soapy bath for the dishes. Lightning studied her sister in silence. She was the perfect image of a housewife: sweet, caring, homey, and a wonderful cook. Lightning maneuvered to her right, preparing to accept the oncoming dishes and dry them.

"Good dinner," said Lightning, running the first plate under the warm tap. Her sister had made a roasted chicken, asparagus spears with balsamic vinegar, and mashed potatoes, of which Snow had snuck a couple of drops of truffle oil into when his wife's back had been turned.

Serah stopped humming and beamed, "You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it." She sighed, plunging her hands into the milky froth and began scrubbing down a skillet. "So, how was your lesson?"

Lightning's expression tightened and she left Serah hanging for a moment before taking the pan from her. "It was alright." Unwanted thoughts of PSICOM and the pasta dinner bubbled to the surface of her mind, taunting her with shame.

"So you didn't hate it," Serah grinned, turning from her work. Lightning shrugged, which apparently translated as 'it was the most delightful experience imaginable' because the woman kept rattling off questions for the next ten minutes regarding her Friday night experience. Lightning's feeble attempt to keep a cork on her usual explosive bottled anger came out in rather short, subdued bursts of things like setting a dish down to hard or gnashing her teeth. Eventually her questions became less prying and Lightning slowly felt her anger levels subdue to a manageable state.

"Did you make anything?"

"Serah, it was just the first day," Lightning shook her head. "I barely remembered how to use the knife."

"Well I guess you'll learn more next week," she handed a wine glass to Lightning. Serah casted a glance out of the corner of her eye, her lips thinning. "You are going back next Friday, aren't you?"

"You're still paying, aren't you?" Lightning smirked.

Serah finished her last dish, and placed a hand on her hip, clicking her tongue, "As long as you keep going."

"Alright then," said Lighting and dried her hands on a towel with a yellow flower embroidered on it. Serah's kitchen faintly reminded her of a garden—the bright colors, everything dressed with floral prints or fruits or peapods. Leave it to Serah to coordinate tea cups with dish towels and let her inner interior-decorator run rampant on every room she visited. It was thanks to her that Lightning even had decorations within her little apartment in the first place.

"Claire, I been meaning to tell you," she touched Lightning on the shoulder and brought her to the kitchen table to sit her down. "Would you like some tea? I'll make tea." Serah turned, her house slippers slapping against the bare wood floor as she rummaged through the cabinets, retrieving two mugs. "What flavor?"

Lightning crossed her legs, wary of the fact that Serah wouldn't be taking no for an answer. "Do you have chamomile?" Without saying a word, the petite woman held up bag out behind her and shook it, then placed in the first mug. She returned shortly, mugs in hand, and set the blue on in front of Lightning. She cupped the mug gently, allowing the residual heat of the ceramic to warm her fingers.

"Well, best not to beat around the bush," Serah smiled, her eyes shining a clearer blue than usual. "I'm pregnant again."

"Wow," Lightning's eyes grew larger, her lips slightly agape at the unexpected news, "I…congratulations." She reached over the table and gave her sister a firm squeeze on the shoulder. Serah's smile widened, reaching up to rest her hand on top of her sisters.

"I know. I suppose it's about time we had another one," she sighed and Lightning released her grip, their hands returning to their tea. Serah blew on her drink politely and took a small sip. "Snow had been pushing on the subject for quite some time last year, but I guess it just happened on its own."

Lightning raised an eyebrow, "Did you want another child?"

"I always did," Serah nodded and stared down at her glass, her expression betraying her enthusiastic tone of voice, "but between volunteering at the hospital and taking care of Rose, housework and what not, I suddenly have to find a place to squeeze in taking care of a new baby."

She licked her lips, setting her tea down. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Serah watched her for a moment, "You seem better than when you called me last."

Lightning looked up from her cup with wide eyes, turning her face into her hair. She had tried to prepare for this moment as best she could, but the sinking feeling in her stomach and the lump in her throat kept the words from spilling out. Lightning wasn't about to become another burden for her sister to carry, especially now that she was going to have another addition to the family. "I shouldn't have called, I woke you up."

Serah sighed, "Its fine. I'm sorry for being a total grump to you." She tilted her head, looking into her sisters eyes. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Don't worry about it." The older sister hardened her gaze, shaking her head. "I-it's nothing that important. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, sis," Serah gave her sister a small smile, and it felt as though something was crushing Lightning's heart. "I've always depended on you to take care of me. You know I'd always do the same for you."

"You don't need to," she replied bitterly. Lightning shifted in her seat, feeling rather restless for having been sitting down for so long. That was one thing she had hated while working at PSICOM—sitting behind the damn desk for the entire day.

Serah nodded, becoming somewhat withdrawn. "Right."

A small voice in her head that was not her own spoke to her: _Why don't you trust her? She is your sister after all. _It was Hope's voice. Lightning frowned, mentally batting away the intruding thoughts and sighed.

"Give me a week," she announced finally, resting her forehead between her forefinger and thumb. "I need time to sort things out still. After that, I'll enlighten you as to what's going on."

"Really?"

Lightning gave Serah a flat stare, "Did I not just say?" She rolled her eyes as the younger sister's eyes began to shine. Her sister wore her emotions so plainly out in the open, Lightning wouldn't be surprised one day if she smiled and little cartoon sparkles starting popping up around her. Lightning rose from her seat, checking her watch briefly. "It's get late. I should leave and let you and the idiot get some sleep."

"I'll walk you out," Serah stood and trailed behind Lightning back through the living room and to the front hall. Footsteps carried down the stairwell as Serah poke her head into the closet, rummaging around for Lightning's coat. Snow emerged from the stairwell, clad in pajama pants and an old shirt.

"Leaving already, sis?" Snow asked, leaning on the banister.

Lightning did not look up to him, taking her coat from Serah and pushing her arm through the sleeve. "Yeah, I am." She heard Snow scratch the stubble on his chin and yawn.

"Well, thanks for coming." Lightning turned briefly, Snow cracking her a big, goofy smile. "Rosie always loves it when her Aunt Claire pays us a visit." A vein throbbed in her forehead and Serah made an immediate lung at her sister, clutching tightly to Lightning's arm. Even in referencing his daughter, it agitated her to no end by him uttering her real name from his lips.

"Call me within the week about what's going on, okay?" Serah let out a nervous laugh and began to gently nudge Lightning out the door. It was a brave effort on Serah's part in attempt to prevent Lighting from knocking the grin off of Snow's face. The last time she had given him a black eye, but also had managed to sprain her hand. Snow certainly was hard-headed in both senses.

Lightning exited the Villiers's home, unaware of the rain that had started to fall. She darted from the porch to her car, the rain soaking her thoroughly. The car door was unlocked by the time she reached her vehicle, and she jumped into the driver's seat, panting and tilting her head back onto the headrest. Lightning started her car and shed her dampened outer shell next to her, the black coat crumpling as it settled into the passenger's seat.

_It's been raining a lot lately. _A fog slowly crept up her windows, making the outside world difficult to view. Yet she could still see as her namesake flashed across the sky, bright and unmistakable, followed by the low rumbling of thunder. Lightning closed her eyes, breathing slowly and concentrating on the rhythmic sound of rain pattering off the roof of her car. Storms always seemed to have a calming effect on her.

Her defenses returned shortly when the chime of her phone echoed in the almost empty car. Lightning dug into her purse and withdrew the palm sized apparatus that was flashing an unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"How do you feel about working as a waitress?"

Lightning leaned back in her seat, frowning at the sound of Hope's voice in her ears, "How do you know I haven't found a job yet?"

Hope chuckled softly. "Believe me; with the economy being as shitty as is it, I highly doubt that."

"Tch."

"So what do you say? Couple friends of mine let word that they were hiring. It'd give you something to do until you find a more permanent position."

"I don't need your help," Lightning growled into the phone and snapped it shut, folding her arms across her chest. She blew a small puff of hair to push the bangs out of her eyes, and tentatively reached for her steering wheel, her fingers just grazing the edge before she paused. The rain became almost deafening in the silence as her fingers trailed back to her phone, curling around it. A compensating paycheck only lasted so long, and it wasn't like she had much in her bank account from the car payments, the bills, and the likes. The rest of her money still had another two years in a CD, and she wasn't about to pull that out earlier than needed. Who knew how long it would be before she found another HR position? Her stubborn sense of pride would never accept money from Serah either.

Lightning flipped her phone open, pressing the redial button, every ring that passed making her muscles tense.

"Hello?"

Lightning's heavy breaths fell into the phone receiver.

"Hello? Light?"

"So, are you going to tell me where this restaurant is or not?"

Monday morning Lightning woke up, showered quickly and headed off to The Lindblum with the directions folded into her coat pocket. She had made her best effort to tame her pink tresses into a suitable look, instead of the humidity induced frizz-monster they had been when she had woken up.

The rain had let up since Sunday night, but it had left the morning air warm and muggy. Lightning reached her destination without much difficulty by eleven o'clock. The trip was relatively shorter than she had expected, and she entered the restaurant with expectations that came crashing down as the realization that the place was nothing more than an ordinary pub.

_A job's a job._ She reminded herself, sucking in a quiet breath and approached the nearest waiter with a mop of blue hair. His back was turned to her, and he was seated at a table with a large rack filled with forks, knives and spoons. Lightning watched for a moment as he carefully sorted them into a tray with four slots, unaware of her presence.

"Excuse me," she began. The waiter jumped in his seat, turned to her with wide eyes and a grimace.

"S-sorry, didn't hear you come in," he stammered, clutching at his chest as he tried to collect his breath. "We're not quite ready to start serving lunch yet, so I can be with you in just a moment."

Lighting bit her lip, "I'm actually, uh, here with regards for work reasons. There's a server's position available, right?"

"Lightning Farron?" Lightning whipped her head in the direction of the call. Her good sense of hearing guided her vision to a brunette woman stacking glasses at the bar. She took her leave from the waiter and approached the bartender, who was polishing glasses with a dish towel. "Hope called about you. My boss is in the back. He'll interview you now if you're not busy."

_Interview? _"Don't I have to…you know, fill out an application?" Lightning frowned, throwing the woman a rather confused look. The woman in response shook her head, cracking a smile.

"At this point, I'd say you're a shoe-in for the position. We've had the 'help wanted sign' posted for weeks, but we've only got about three other applications, none which looked very promising. Besides, Rydgea will hire anybody with a pulse. Maybe that's why we keep having so many open positions." She returned to polishing her glasses and glanced up at Lightning again briefly. "You didn't hear that from me."

Lightning let out a small sigh that could have passed for a laugh, "Thanks."

"No problem. I'm Lebreau by the way," Lebreau offered Lightning a hand, and she shook it firmly. "Besides, Rydgea owes Hope one for the time he bailed him out. Our old chef walked out on us at the last minute a few months ago and we were down people that night. He came to our rescue on his day off, wouldn't accept payment for it or anything."

_Rydgea… that name sounds familiar… _"I'll go see him now."

"Good luck," she smiled, and returned to her work. "Just head through the back doors over there, he's probably in the kitchen."

Lightning nodded, removing her jacket before entering through the double doors into the kitchen. It was a very small kitchen, with little space to move around between counters and appliances. She found it difficult to imagine cooks in here, just squeezing past each other to get around. There was a bar stool situated at one of the counters and Lightning cleared her throat, uncertain of what to do.

"Hello?" she called out. A rustling noise from the back answered her, and she took several steps back.

"You can go ahead and have a seat. I'll be with y'all shortly," a man's voice with a Southern drawl replied from the back. Lightning shrugged, making her way to the bar stool and sat down, clutching her coat to her chest. _Voice sounds really familiar too, now why can't I-_

Her thoughts were interrupted as a man came out from the back. He was dressed casually; donning jeans and cowboy boot, and his wild brown hair was pushed out of his face. The man wore the same half-shaven look as Snow. He cracked a smile before he sat down in front of her.

"Well, never expected to see you here," he joked and leaned back in his seat. "What; don't recognize me?"

Lightning's eyes became a pair of slits as she examined him, and they re-opened to twice their size. "You're one of Snow's clients." Yes, she recalled him from dinner a few weeks ago. Like all the Villiers' dinner guests, he too had seemed rather apprehensive around Lightning.

"S'right. Name's Rydgea, in case you forgot," he shook hands with her and Lightning felt embarrassment creep up on her for not remembering the man. He removed his hat and set it down on the counter, pulling out a small notepad from his pocket. "So, I hear from Hope you're his student now."

_So Hope's not one to keep his mouth shut. _"That would be correct," Lightning replied icily. She watched as Rydgea began to scrawl things down on the pad. _What else has Hope been telling these people?_

"Okay, now to business. Have you ever worked in a restaurant before?"

Lightning hesitated before responding. "No."

"Okay." He made several messy notes before looking up at her again. "Are you currently employed?"

This time Lightning really waited before giving another reply, "No."

"That's fine, it's fine," he smiled. "So tell me, why are you interested in this position?"

Lightning shifted in her seat, the restlessness eating away at her patience. It also wasn't helping that this interview was far too informal for her taste. "Well I figured it would be good to find something temporarily while I look for a more permanent position. Hope also mentioned that your restaurant was hiring."

"Well Hope is like that. He don't even have to know you for very long before helping you out." Rydgea made more notes and flipped open to a new page. "So, where were you working before this?"

"PSICOM Guardian Branch, I was the HR department head," Lighting felt the words come up, making her throat tighten.

"So you have experience in dealing with people you would say?"

"Yes." Her eyes flickered and followed the sharp jerks of his hand as he wrote. It was near impossibly to make out any of the sentences with Rydgea's penmanship, let alone manage it upside down. Lightning's focus casually drifted away as the man looked up at her again.

"Wanna tell me what you did?"

Twenty minutes later, he finally closed his notebook, raising both hands above his head for a long stretch. Rydgea ran another hand through his hair, and smiled at Lightning.

"Well, I think that's all," he said and stood, disappearing for a moment into the back before handing her a stack of papers. Rydgea returned with a mug in hand set the papers down on the counter, pushing them towards Lightning.

"What are these for, if I may ask?" Lightning said and began to flip through them.

"That's what I always ask, but you have to go through the legal mumbo-jumbo before you can start working," Rydgea chuckled. The papers in her hands fell to the table. He took a slurp from his cup before setting it down on the counter and gesturing to it. "Want some? It's actually a really good blend of coffee."

Lightning continued to stare in disbelief. "You're giving me the job?"

"Well you did do pretty well in the interview," Rydgea rubbed his chin and made his way over to the coffee pot behind him, pouring another glass and handed it to Lightning. She took it from him absentmindedly, not even bothering to take a drink of the much needed caffeine. Rydgea laughed again, scratching behind his neck. "To be honest with you, the other applicants were a bunch of schmucks: a cocky college kid that I didn't like too much, another punk who had more piercings that a pin cushion, and some thirty year old man who hadn't passed his drug test for the last two jobs he applied for." Rydgea nodded for Lightning to take a drink of the coffee and she did so. The coffee, like he had said, was actually pretty decent. "You may not have the experience, Miss Lightning, but you certainly are normal and you've dealt with people before. Besides, if Hope sent you to us, I don't think I could refuse his recommendation." Rydgea took another slurp of his coffee, and set the mug down on the counter. "So, whaddya say?"

The gears in her brain had taken a while to warm up, but eventually they started turning again, just registering what the owner had told her. All the weeks she would have been without money had just suddenly vanished and it was mostly, if not all, thanks to Hope.

"When do I start?" A rare smile formed ever so slightly on her lips, and vanished within a second. Rydgea wooped, and smacked his knee.

"Bout time I got another pair of hands here. We've been so busy lately," he said, and threw her his pen. "You can fill that out now if you like, we can start training you today actually, if that's possible. Work days would be Monday through Thursdays and a weekend, most likely Saturday: if you don't like the schedule we give you, you can always swap with one of the other waiters. As for hours, we can work those out later"

"Saturday is fine." Lightning picked up her stack again, scowling when she felt a slimy substance coat the fingers on her right hand, and quickly set the papers back down. Rydgea frowned and examined the last paper in her stack, his eyes falling instantly to the counter, where there was a glop of something that had been smeared by the stack.

"Damn kids never clean up after themselves," he continued cursing and took a short trip to fetch a towel and wiped down the mess. "I ought to start hiring more kitchen hands too. You ain't up for the task, are ya?"

Lightning shook her head. "I appreciate you hiring me, but I don't think you want me in your kitchen." She held up her left hand, which was covered in bandages.

"Ah, well, when Hope's done with you, maybe will talk then," Rydgea grinned and handed her a dampened paper towel to wipe her fingers with. "You sure look like you could keep those kids in line." Rydgea stretched again, and rubbed his back. "I'll be up in front if you need me. You can give me those when you're done, and will talk details later."

"Sounds good," Lightning nodded and clicked the pen, beginning to carefully put down her information. Her mind was still trying to wrap around the idea that she was no longer unemployed: it had been less than a week since she lost her job, and it was a miracle she had found work so quickly. If it weren't for the fact that Hope had recommended she come here… Lightning looked up from her application, "Did Hope really fill in for your restaurant without getting paid?"

Just about to make an exit, Rydgea paused and slowly turned around. "Lebreau been talking to you already?" Lightning nodded. Rydgea chuckled and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. "Let me tell you something: the first time I met that boy about three months ago was when I called up an old friend of mine for help.

"At the time, my current chef—Cid Raines, walked out on me one Friday night at the very last minute. Oh we were down a lot of people that night: some on sick leave, a lot on sick leave, actually. There was some kind of bug going around. Anyways, I called up Fang and asked her if she had any people she'd be willing to give me that night. I told her that I'd taken anyone she'd offer me and I'd pay that person up front for coming in. 'Course she laughed at me first and told me that she had two people with the day off, one of which was taking a weeklong vacation in the Bahamas. The other one, as you might have guessed, was Hope.

"So I called up this kid with a prayer that I knew wouldn't be answered. At the time, I suppose I was riding on the fact that he might have been desperate for money. I mean, who wants to work on your day off for some unfamiliar kitchen? So I call him up, and I says to him what I said to Fang: we're low on people, I know it's your day off but could you come in and cook for me? And to my surprise, that boy said yes and showed up promptly half an hour before I asked him to come in."

Rydgea gave Lightning a smile. "Let me tell you: that kichen ain't never run any smoother than that Friday night Hope was in here. There was a buzz of talk that day up in the front of the house; people seemed to be enjoying the food better. When all was said in done, I couldn't get him to accept anything for his troubles. Not a single penny. He just laughed at me and said someday he knew I'd return the favor. Next day I called up Fang and told her that if she ever has the crazy idea of firing that boy that she'd promise to send him straight to me."

"Huh," Lightning breathed, unfolding her arms. "So I guess you've returned the favor then."

"By hiring you? Maybe. Well, not so much," Rydgea grinned. "Y'see, I sorta feel like I owe him even more now for sending a sensible lady to work for me. You don't seem so intimidating now that you're away from Snow."

"He…has a way with my nerves," Lightning replied, choosing her words carefully.

"I figured as much. If you need anything else, let me know." Lightning sighed as Rydgea exited the kitchen, and returned to filling out her stack of papers. It was a relatively mundane task writing things like her name, address, and date of birth—it left a lot of time for the mind to wander, and she could feel hers wandering without fail.

The story Rydgea had repeated to her wasn't particularly surprising. That is, Hope's do-goody attitude seemed to suit him in Lightning's eyes. Few people were like that nowadays, but she supposed that she would run into one of them eventually. Yet he had accepted some sort of payment from her sister for the lessons, so he probably wasn't obnoxiously saint-like-

"Shit," Lightning cursed, frowning at her paper. Three words into her sentence she had forgotten to write the 'c' in 'specialty', and ink was smudged at the top of the page. _Guess this stuff isn't as mindless as I thought. _Lightning pushed her current thoughts aside and continued jotting down information, irritation burning in her chest at the very thought of becoming so distracted. The last thing she needed was to start acting dumb because she happened to be thinking about a man. Women always became dumb when they thought about men and love, and Lightning would not allow herself to stoop so low.

_How do people fall in love? _She wondered, finishing the second to last page of her packet. Lightning could easily recall the instant Serah had fallen for Snow: her sharp sense of wit had been dulled down; her gazes became distant, empty. Serah had been giddy, bubbly—just like every other lovesick teenage girl was. Love like that clouded a good sense of judgment. It was the reason so many women were still in abusive relationships, and why so many people divorced, leaving kids in broken families because their short-lived infatuations had long since worn off.

Lightning almost laughed aloud. She couldn't quite picture herself all wide-eyed and giggly, feeling like she had downed alcohol until her brain was foggy and slow in some love-drunk stupor. She may have had a maximum of four boyfriends between high school and college, all of which did not last more than a couple of months at the most—nothing too serious. It was because the lack of relationships that lead Serah to her crazy antics of setting her up with any man she could convince to date Lightning. Speaking of, Lightning still couldn't believe her sister's promise to stop concocting dates between her and whatever poor sap Serah had lured into her plot.

"At least I don't have to worry about that this time," she breathed, and reshuffled the forms, setting her pen down. _For once, Serah's crazy plans actually aren't harmful…other than the knives and the fire. _They had even landed her a job. Only one class down and she had made progress in the kitchen, as well in a spot in her life that needed fixing. Lightning picked up her coat and her papers, heading for the doors to start her training.

"A start's better than nothing, I suppose."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

**Buuh. I didn't like this one all that much. It felt kinda forced and derpy. I know that Lightning finding a job like snap-of-the-finger quick is highly unbelievable, but please stretch** **your imaginations for me! It'll get better…I hope.**

**And a small FYI – As of the 13****th****, I will be back in school working towards my undeclared major (YEAH!) So if you notice a sudden lack of updates, I apologize. I will shoot for every other week for updates, but if it takes me a month, please be understanding.**

**Have fun in the kitchen kids, and remember: safety first!**

**PS: The second season of Worst Cooks in America has begun! Nufufufu, I'd highly recommend you watch it. **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: You guys, I sincerely apologize for the lack of updates. Here's a little bit of insight into what's been happening in my life:**

**There was a monster of a snowstorm. During which I broke up with my boyfriend. It also delayed the fixing of my laptop. Once I received the laptop back, a few weeks later it broke again. And I've needed it to write all these papers for different classes. As if this weren't discouraging enough, I had some trouble with people that I am no longer on good terms with. And well, yeah. Things happened. And if that wasn't enough, by the time I was actually able to sit down and write, I had forgotten what direction I was taking this story in…did I mention the bout of writer's block?**

**In other news, Magically Unknown gets the cookie! (WIN-NAR, woohoo). I based the title of this fanfic off of a quote in No Reservations. "Comme il faut" is a French phrase in cooking that means "as it should be". **

**Chapter 6**

For the past five minutes, Hope toyed with the idea of asking Lightning about the plethora of plastic bandages that covered her fingers.

What was even more intriguing was the way she tried to hide her wounds with a very long sleeved shirt, extending over her hands just to cover the tips of her knuckles—a feeble attempt, at best. The bumps of the band-aids showed through the skintight blue sleeve. Hope regarded it with mixed feelings: the injuries were a fair indication of Light's wiliness to practice at home, but he couldn't help the twinge of guilt arising in his chest because they were partially his fault.

"Are we starting?" Light's passive tone cut the silence between them. She had arrived earlier today, offering to help him set up. Light stood next to her cutting board, arms crossed; her features displaying her impatience.

Hope felt his brain whir into motion and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out for a second." He smiled and ducked into the fridge, retrieving a sizable, paper-wrapped parcel and set it down on his cutting board.

"What is that?" she asked. Hope glanced over his shoulder to look at her. Light's posture remained relatively stiff, and her neck was elongated; head leaned in ever so slightly. He guessed she had mastered this position ages ago. It gave the impression of being engaged without having to sacrifice her bubble of personal space.

"This," Hope said, peeling back the paper and flipping the fleshy mass onto his cutting board. "Is a whole chicken that I picked up at the butcher's this morning. You might want to roll up your sleeves first—unless you want to slime them up with chicken juice." He returned to the fridge and retrieved a second package, which found its way to Light's cutting board.

A frown formed on her face as she sighed, pushing her sleeves up to reveal even more bandages creeping up her arms like hairless, peach-colored caterpillars. Hope's eyes widened, wondering how she still had a pair of two intact hands instead of stubs.

"Can I ask-?"

"Don't flatter yourself—only two of them are from cooking." Light held up her left hand, indicating to her pointer and middle finger, then switched over to her right thumb, "That was from training at work, and the rest-" She held up both limbs, which were more bandage than arm, and narrow her eyes, "-was from helping Sarah's husband with yard work. A word of friendly advice: if you're considering getting a house within the near future, don't try to prune trees and create mulch on your own. It's a _dumb_ idea."

Hope swallowed. "Serah's husband's?"

Light nodded and rolled her eyes. "I was lucky. The idiot managed to drop a rather inconspicuous looking branch on his arm. One broken bone and a trip to the hospital later, Serah put her foot down and operation wood-chipper was over."

She raised an eyebrow as he chuckled and curled a hand into his stomach. "Sorry, the way you put it," he laughed. "I couldn't keep the image out of my head."

"Heh," a smirk pulled at her lips.

"Well, distractions aside, let's get started," Hope reached for his knife and paused. "You're not squeamish, are you?"

She responded with a cold stare.

"Why did I even ask?" He joked and finally picked up the knife, holding it up for her to examine. It was a different shape than the one he had used last time, which probably explained the confused look on Light's face. "This is a boning knife. It's used to remove the bones of meat, poultry and fish. We're going to butcher the chicken with this." He frowned, removing his left hand from the chicken. "A side note, any time you have a cut or burn, you usually wear a glove over it. But since it's just the two of us, and we aren't serving to the public, I think we'll be fine."

"Anyways, we start with the chicken breast-side up. You can tell you have it facing the right way because the tail is on the bottom-" Hope brought his hand back to the chicken, and pulled on the tail, which was on the underside of the chicken, "-and the top is soft and squishy. Now what we want to do is make a slice right between the edge of the breast and the leg, and crack this open to find the joint." He made his incision, pulling and tugging the leg to expose the muscle inside. "See the knobby white thing in there? That's the joint. Cut right through it."

Light's usual method of distant observing was thrown aside as she closed in on Hope, watching him demonstrate butchering the chicken. He removed the second leg, and explained how you could keep the thigh on or cut it off. After the legs he moved on to wings, and lastly, the breasts.

"Believe it or not it's actually cheaper to buy the whole chicken and freeze whatever parts you don't use," he explained, slicing the meat away from the spine. "We're only going to use the breast meat for the pasta, but I figured I could throw in a little lesson onto how to break down a chicken."

"Huh," Light's eyes flickered with the movement of the blade as she absorbed the information. "So what else can you use besides that meat?"

"The giblets I pulled out earlier, for one," he answered. Reaching over, he picked up a plastic baggie and placed the remains inside it. "And the carcass can be cooked down for stock. Again, we don't to waste anything." Hope grabbed a second bag and put the legs, thighs, and wings inside, holding it up and grinning. "These are yours to keep. Make something at home."

Light nodded. "I…appreciate it."

"No problem." With his last cut, Hope set his knife down and washed his hands. "Now, it's your turn." Light complied with a bob of her head and unwrapped her package.

Hope watched her with great intensity. While the woman's skills in butchering the meat were expected of a first timer, there was no hesitance in the movement of her blade. Light's cuts were swift and precise, even if they weren't always correct. It was a curious thing to watch someone who wasn't afraid of making mistakes.

"You might want to cut a little deeper on the next side."

"Got it." Light adjusted her grip on the knife, easing it down a bit further into the flesh than her last cut. Hope couldn't help but smile—there was an urgent sense of pride within himself to see his…student (he supposed this was the correct word) learning so quickly. Maybe teaching wouldn't be so difficult at all—

"Shit!"

Hope jumped, ducking as the knife flung into the air, spiraling towards him. From the corner of his eye, he made out the culprit of the sudden outburst. Small flecks of red dotted the cutting board and further over, a steady stream of blood dripping from Light's finger.

So much for an easy lesson.

He sighed and picked up the knife, setting it back on the counter. Running a hand through his hair and yanking, he stood motionless for a brief moment before encroaching Light's personal space. "Um, can I see—"

"—I got it," she interjected, snapping and hissing like a wounded animal. Hope chewed his lip, feeling a bit useless as she nursed her injury. It wouldn't have come as a surprise to him if she had started to lick the cut, the hairs on the back of her neck hackling. He gathered what few bits of courage remained within him, and approached her again. She flinched immediately, but didn't respond this time with angered words.

"I deal with this stuff all the time," he informed her. She still didn't seem convinced. "Could you at least run it under some hot water? I'll get the first-aid kit." He turned his back for a moment, taking a trip down to his knees to search the lower cabinets for medical supplies. After some digging around in a particularly dusty alcove behind the far left door, he discovered a first-aid kit. It was also at this moment that the kitchen sink came to life with the sound of rushing water and complaining pipes. Hope returned to his feet. "Okay I think you've rinsed it enough."

Lightning grunted. He sighed, taking some side steps towards her. "Let me see?"

There was a long pause before the woman set her hand down on the faucet, shutting off the water. She clutched her left hand with a vice grip, rubbing small, nervous circles with her thumb across the flesh of her palm. Hope blinked. Light slowly extended her hand. He offered a shy smile and with a ghost of a touch, gathered her hand into his and examined her finger.

"It doesn't look like it'll need stitches," he reasoned. Her fingers were quite slender. A bit on the bony side and firm, but there was still softness to them, just enough to get his mind wandering and force a blush into his cheeks. Light squirmed under Hope's prolonged hold on her hand—his cue to start talking. "I-I should probably bandage this now." He released his grip and riffled through the first-aid kit, fumbling with the flimsy wrapping that kept the band-aid encased. Hope stiffened and choked on his breath before taking her finger again and wrapping the band-aid around her pinky. What possessed him to make it into a deliberate process he couldn't say, but his motions nevertheless were meticulous and, incredibly slow.

"You know, for handling the knife the way you do…well, it's kind of funny how you still cut yourself."

"Tch."

_Okay, that was dumb. Geeze Esthiem, get a grip! _

He felt Light wince under his touch.

_No, no, no—not literally! Augh, stupid, it's just a band-aid. Calm down. Focus._

"You seem kind of tense." Hope looked up from his work for a split-second. That was not the response he had been expecting. Hope continued to bandage. The woman sighed. "I got the job at The Lindblum."

"You did?"

Light nodded and slipped her hand out from Hope's grasp, examining it and murmuring a sarcastic "wonderful" before letting it fall to her side. "Yeah. I, uh, Rydgea told me what you did for him that one time. When the head chef quit?"

Hope, who had picked up the bits of wrapper from the band-aid, began to roll them into a ball out of nervousness. "Um yeah I, yeah…that was a while ago."

Light cleared her throat. "Well it helped…so thank you."

"Y-your welcome."

Her eyes fixated to the cutting board. "We should probably clean that up."

Hope nodded curtly and began to clean, the occasional tingling sensation pulsing in the tips of his fingers as a reminder of where they had been priorly curled around Light's hand. It was quite frustrating, yet strangely pleasurable. He flushed, trying to recollect his lesson plans.

"Let's get started on the roux[1]."

XXXXXXXX

Lightning licked her lips, devouring the last bit of leftover chicken alfredo from last week. She propped an elbow up on the counter, and resealed her Tupperware container. Business was slow tonight, and her break had lasted ten minute longer than usual, giving her extra time to savor her meal. Weekday nights tended to be less busy than Saturdays, but tonight the tavern harbored more empty seats than usual.

"Light, there's a couple at table ten who just walked in," Lebreau called, poking her head into the kitchen. Lightning stretched and quickly stowed her dirtied container into her bag.

"I'm on it." The woman stood, smoothing her apron down and shot a menacing look at the man behind the deep fryer. "Craig, you better clean that counter or Rydgea might just cleave off your head with that decorative knife he has mounted in his office."

"Y-yes ma'am," the teen stammered, shuffling over to the sanitation bucket.

Lightning rolled her eyes and took her belongings back by the lockers before she exited the kitchen. She spotted the couple Lebreau mentioned without much effort: a bespeckled man with wiry brown hair and a gaunt-faced blonde woman sat bickering over a basket of bread. Lightning approached them and cleared her throat. It was ineffective in capturing their attention.

Brusquely, the waitress shoved the menu down in front of the customers. She began to recite her usual greetings, "Good evening. My name is Claire and I will be your server this evening. Can I start you folks off with something to drink?" Her smile, if you could call it that, had a venomous quality to it. The woman, who was still in shock from having a menu thrust in front of her, gave Lightning a blank stare before robotically picking it up.

"I'll…have a lemonade."

"Vodka up, on the rocks," the man replied after his partner. Lightning smirked in satisfaction, jotting down their orders.

"Any appetizers?"

The menu quivered with the man's grip. "Uh… p-potato skins?"

"I'll have that right up for you in just a second. Let me know when you're ready, and I'll come back to take your orders." Lighting turned heel and headed back to the order window, bumping elbows with Rydgea on her way.

"Could you try to intimidate our customers a little bit less?"

"I'm working on it."

Rydgea guffawed, "I think y'all working a little too hard on it. Do yer self a favor and relax."

"You mean like the guys in the back?"

"Ouch. Touché," he mockingly clutched at his chest like he had just been stabbed. "No I don't mean like them boys in the back. Heaven knows what they're doing back there. I'm afraid to hire new ones though, y'know? They'd prolly be even worse."

"Last time I checked in, Craig was cleaning that counter."

Rydgea elevated his eyebrow. "Really now." The amused expression in his features shifted dramatically and Lighting turned her head just as he uttered "speaking of kids".

A pack of teenagers, of which the eldest appeared to be no older than fifteen, meandered into the tavern, shoving and laughing obnoxiously as they made their way over to a booth. Lightning gripped her notepad with enough force to split it in two. Of all the types of customers, teenagers excelled in being the worst: atrocious messes, the standard of which included a plate of some hybrid concoction involving each party member's dish (Her worst experience had been a few nights ago when someone had decided to mix their root beer with French onion soup and nachos). Additionally, there were often complaints from the other customers, and least she forget that teenagers usually didn't have enough pocket money to leave a tip.

"Grin and bear it, Miz Lightning." Rydgea clapped her on the shoulder before ducking back into the kitchen. Lightning scoffed at the cowardly action, and turned her attention back to her situation, of which said persons were blowing straw wrappers at one another. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she headed towards the table.

"Good evening, my name is—"

"ACHOO"

Every muscle in Lightning's body tensed at the precise moment she was sprayed with teen nose-drippings. The offender sniffled, transferring his mess to his sleeves via wiping his nose.

"Dude, what is your problem?" His neighbor asked in a husky voice. A small hint of laughter filtered through the tone, indicating his amusement. "Sorry, my friend here's just getting over the flu. Jason, man, you really need to warn people before you explode sneeze all over their face."

"Sorry," the boy, Jason, apologized. Lightning remained frozen, seething in anger and disgust. If she didn't wind up strangling these stupid brats by the end of her shift…well, she felt sorry for the next person to cross her after that.

Lightning gritted her teeth. "What can I get you to drink?"

XXXXXXX

"Alright folks, let's start the meeting."

Lightning rubbed at her neck, trying to ease a bit of the pain that plagued every part of her body. She figured her neck was a good place to start. Projecting her anger from outlandish customers into her hands was an unusual, yet surprisingly effective method of working out the knots from a ten hour shift—better than using them to choke teenage boys to death. Though that subject matter was still up for debate.

Rydgea situated himself at the head of the table, passing menus in a clock-wise motion. At the Lindblum, every first Wednesday of the month Rydgea closed the tavern early to discuss new ideas. And while Lightning actually approved of this get together, she would rather be at home soaking in a hot bath than staying until one o'clock in the morning to discuss what sort of napkins they should be using or whether the fried zucchini bites should be pulled from the menu.

Lightning was handed a menu, which she passed to the person seated across from her. Granted, there was one empty space to her left, but most of the cooks and waitresses seemed apprehensive around her with the exception of Lebreau, who seated adjacently to her right.

"Now, firstly I'd like to start with suggestions on service. Anything we can do to get this place running smoother?" The staff exchanged quiet glances, the occasional person shifting in their seat. Lightning remained poised, shoulders square and arms folded.

"Yeah I got one, how 'bout we ban adolescent boys from the premises?"

Lebreau stifled a giggle, and the rest of the waiting staff gave small nods of the head in concurrence with her statement. Rydgea licked his lips, "As much as I would love to, we can't exactly do that. However, I think Light has a point." The man leaned forward in his chair, eyes scanning over his workforce. "How do deal with difficult customers?"

"It's not just difficult," replied a young red-headed woman, wrinkling her nose. "It's disgusting. You should see some of the stuff those kids leave behind. Yesterday a group of middle school kids came in and I had to clean up ice cream, fried fish, cola, and jell-o, all of which had been put into one bowl."

"Yeah I remember that," Yuj recalled, nodding. "They spilled half of it all over the tabl and the floor." The man shuddered.

Rydgea tuned to the complainant girl, "Any ideas how to prevent that from happing Cassidy?"

"Honestly, I don't know," she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "They tend to do it when you have your back turned. One minute passes and next thing you know, you have the entire tables' order suspended in questionable looking fluid."

The owner sighed. "Anyone else have ideas?" Glances were exchanged, but the absence of sound prevailed. "Well, let's get to our next topic of discussion…"

Lightning tuned out the conversation after Rydgea started to rant about sanitation. From the bits and pieces that occasionally reached her ears, she gathered that the meeting was forming a pattern: Rydgea poses a question about problem X, one or two staff members complain, Rydgea rephrases the question, staff members say nothing, rinse, repeat. The reiteration was rhythmic, almost mesmerizing, and Lightning felt the weight of sleep begin to tug at her eyelids. Her head dipped down, eyelids drooping. Then with a quick jerk, her head would snap back up, eyes blinking open.

_Only need to stay awake for… _Lightning glanced at the clock, _thirty more minutes._ She stifled a yawn, but in a few moments her shoulders slackened and her chin tucked itself back onto her chest.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Naw, yer just in time. We're about to discuss menu changes."

Lighting nearly fell out of her seat as her focus was abruptly roused from its loosened state. Her head snapped to the left, verifying that the owner of the voice was indeed who she thought it was. A flash of silver hair confirmed her suspicion, and her sleep-addled state of mind was pushed out of the way as a surge of energy rushed through her veins, composed of a range of feelings from embarrassment to excitement to anxiety.

"Hey."

Lighting nodded to acknowledge Hope's presence. Refraining from speaking gave her time to shove the uneasy feeling back down her throat into the pit of her stomach, of where it originated from. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling, sprawling his legs out underneath the table. Hope's thigh brushed against hers. At contact, every muscle in her body contracted, the knots in her back winding even tighter.

"Are you okay? You just got pale all of a sudden." He leaned over to examine her, and Lightning found herself struggling to breathe.

Since when had men made her feel so uncomfortable?

More specifically, since when had she ever felt inclined to be uncomfortable with Hope? Within his features lay hints of a baby face, wide eyes and round, soft cheeks. He was a bit on the gangly side as well. Nothing remotely intimidating about him whatsoever: Hope was like a rabbit as Lightning was to a wolf—and the last time she checked; wolves ate rabbits, not cowered in terror of them.

"I'm…tired," she frowned, inadvertently scooting a little further from him. The last finger on her left hand trembled. Lightning growled under her breath. She sooner would have bled to death than had let him touch her last Friday, especially if it meant going through all of this nonsense. And it was nonsense, because Lightning couldn't conjure up any other rational idea as to what it might be. "What are you doing here?"

"Rydgea wanted my input on a couple new items he wants to try out," Hope answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know if I'll be of any help, but, I wanted to at least try."

"You're a cook, so your opinion has merit," she put flatly and began tapping her leg with her index finger.

"So I'm going to pass around the first dish. We've got a popcorn shrimp with a zesty tomato garlic dipping sauce…"

"Are you sure you're alright?" Hope asked.

"Like I said, I'm tired." Lightning sighed and began testing new positions in which to sit, but no matter which way she leaned or shifted, she could not shake the sensation of being uncomfortable. When the platter came made its rounds, she accepted it from Lebreau, forking a shrimp and setting the food down on her plate before handing the vessel to Hope. "I had to deal with a group of five pubescent boys today, so don't even get me started." She decided against repeating word-for-word her slightly traumatic experience of being sneezed on. Just the very thought of it was starting to make her feel a bit ill.

Hope nodded. "Yeah, we had a screaming two year-old today. All the servers were complaining—not that I needed to hear it from them, you could hear the kid screeching all the way back in the kitchen." His lips formed into a thin line and he sighed. "It's amazing how loud they can get."

"I get that with my niece sometimes. She's usually well behaved, but on the occasion, if the conditions are right, she does a decent impression of an angry cat."

Hope laughed, "I don't doubt that we used to do the same when we were kids."

"Hope what do you think about the sauce?"

He shifted his gaze to Rydgea and quickly dipped the appetizer into the sauce and brought it to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "A little under seasoned, but you can taste the garlic. I think I would add a bit more spice to it. Cayenne pepper might give it that extra zing."

"I agree," said Lebreau, nibbling the fried bit of the tail. "Needs more oomph."

"How is it under seasoned?" Lightning whispered. As far as she was concerned, it tasted pretty damn good.

"Well I didn't want to get nit-picky." Hope fumbled with his hands under the table. "But it could have used a lot more salt. Here, just—" The young man reached for a salt shaker, his body hovering over her for a few seconds. Lightning felt a sting of embarrassment bite at her cheeks. She bit down hard on her lip as Hope salted the sauce on her plate. "Try it now."

Lightning huffed, trying to force some of the tension out of her body with a breath. She picked up her fork and captured a little sauce on it, tasting it. Her eyes widened. "I see the improvement."

Hope shrugged. "At least it wasn't over salted. Be thankful you weren't here when they first introduced the hummus platter. I still can't stomach the stuff." Hope stared down at his half-eaten shrimp. "Also, my shrimp was over cooked."

"Now you're being nit-picky," Lightning said with a smirk. Hope flashed her a grin.

"Why else do you think Rydgea asks me to come around here? I'm the only one with enough courage to tell him what I really think about the dish."

Lightning perched an eyebrow.

"In private…after the meeting is over…"

The woman snorted, shaking her head and frowned when a second platter was shoved into her arms. Lightning stared at the dish—an unfamiliar white dip sat in the middle of the platter inside a bowl. In appearance, its texture was a cross between mashed potatoes and cottage cheese.

"Hummus…two-point-o," Hope paled at the sight of the platter. Lightning froze, having just spooned a tiny dollop onto her plate and made an attempt to hand it off to Hope. He shook his head abruptly. "I'm going to pass on this one."

"I don't blame you," she whispered, passing it to the next in line, who looked as equally apprehensive as Hope had. Any emotions regarding Hope that had previously troubled Lighting died in her throat. She picked up the wedge of pita bread and scooped up the infamous hummus.

Lighting turned to her silver haired companion, with features full of pure dread.

"Cheers."

XXXXXX

[1] – Roux – a mixture made of equal parts flour and butter, cooked for a length of time on a stove top. Milk or other broth is added, and when it reached a boiling point, it acts as a thickening agent. Ever made homemade gravy? Macaroni and Cheese? I encourage you to try it out some time. Keep the heat medium-low, as this stuff can burn pretty easily. And whisk when you add milk. Whisk a lot…and keep whisking.

**So, sorry again for a relatively short chapter: It was really difficult for me to recollect the direction I had been going in. Maybe that might have to do with the fact that my last update was sometime in January… Also, I don't want the pace of the story to move too fast, so I hope that my writing has reflected such. Please R &… um, well you already read I suppose… so just R. Next chapter should be longer, and more interesting. **

**Until next time! (And by next time, I really hope to mean one or two weeks)**

**PS – I actually like hummus a lot, but I got the idea from a friend who didn't do so well eating it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful, wonderful reviews. I feel very, very loved. It's made me feel tons better after all the stuff I've been going through.**

**For those of you who love hummus and have really weak stomachs, heed caution when reading this chapter.**

**This chapter also jumps around a lot, so I apologize.**

**I do not own Advil. Advil…owns Advil?**

**Forewarning – The F bomb is dropped in this chapter. Just wanted to give a heads up.**

Chapter 7

Lightning swore she would never eat hummus again.

Which hardly made sense, because it had been nearly two days since had downed the stuff back at The Lindblum. Yet she had spent most of the first lights of her Friday kneeling in front of the toilet with the taste of chickpeas, garlic and bile repeatedly filling her mouth. She dared not let her eyes wonder, lest she see the mess and cause her stomach to heave once again. The smell alone was acrid enough. Lightning gagged, and without even bothering to look, groped for the handle and flushed away her sickness.

What was most regrettable about the situation was the fact Lightning had found the hummus to be quite delicious—that is, before her body decided to vomit the contents of her stomach at four-thirty this morning. A soft moan escaped the woman's lips and her head bucked forward, spitting and gagging in a dry heave.

"So help me, I will get Rydgea to take that stuff off the menu." Lightning stumbled back into the other room. Her toes curled deep into the carpet, anchoring each uneven step. It took every ounce of her energy just to crawl back into her bed. Of course, the most likely culprit of her sudden illness was that moronic kid that had sneezed on her at work Wednesday night. Thankfully, she had today off. Missing work meant missing money in her paycheck—something she couldn't afford now.

Lightning hated being sick. It was something that didn't happen very often, partially due to her superior immune system. The other part was her being a stickler for good hand washing. But being sick left her vulnerable and weak.

And Lightning Farron was not weak.

Yet that is precisely how she felt—weak, utterly pathetic. She rolled onto her bed, pulled the comforter over herself, and groaned. A dull pain had settled in the small of her back, spreading into her shoulders and arms. Was that from work? She had never really noticed the pain before. Whatever the cause, it was wreaking havoc on her nerve endings. The pain may have been dull, but it never ceased to be tormenting her. It was as if a hot metal rod had been inserted into the base of her spine, sitting there for hours. A fleeting thought passed through her clouded mind: take some pain killers. She dismissed it, however, considering her chances of being able to keep the pills long enough in her stomach to be effective were slim.

Back pain, headache, nausea, and of course, the fever, which was probably the worst. Lightning shivered under the covers. A thin layer of sweat began to work itself to the surface of her skin. She let out another moan, rolled onto her side and drew her knees into her chest. Her throat still burned, raw from up heaving bile and acid so many times. Everything hurt. It hurt to stand, it hurt to move; it hurt to just lie there, wallowing in sick misery.

_I should…call someone…_

No. She could not rely on anyone to take care of her. Every fiber of her being simply refused to succumb to her weakness; she would pull through. Yes, Lightning would be better by tomorrow. She would be up, running about, waiting tables and searching for a real job—

If only she could move her arm close enough to her nightstand to pop an Advil.

Then again, that was provided she didn't throw it up.

Lightning kicked off her covers, rolled off the bed and crawled back to the bathroom. She gripped either side of the toilet seat, her mouth filling with hot saliva.

And prayed to the porcelain god.

She could have sworn her stomach was empty. It astounded her that there was still anything left in her stomach. Lightning imagined that with the next bout of sickness, she would see a lung or a spleen floating there, suspended in toilet water. There was no strength left in her body and so she slumped to her right, colliding with her bathroom floor, pieces of hair obscuring her view of the moulding on the cabinet. She didn't care particularly; the view was terrible from down here, but the tiles felt cold and good against her burning cheeks.

Minutes passed.

Lightning's eyes fluttered shut.

Minutes turned to hours.

A sudden stabbing pain in the back of her neck aroused Lightning from her floor-nap. She uttered a cry, sitting upright but was met halfway by the edge of her cabinet. Cursing, she recoiled and struggled herself up to a stance, turning towards the door.

Before exiting, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a complete stringy mess. Additionally, the floor had given her a parting gift by imprinting a grid pattern onto her right cheek. Lightning grunted, and returned to her bedroom.

_Eight fifty-three…damn, how long was I out? _She attempted to recall the time of which she passed out in her bathroom. Lightning sat down on the edge of her mattress and snatched up a bottle of ibuprofen. She popped the first pill in and swallowed. The next one put up a fight, and she choked, spitting it up into her hand. Half of the coating had melted off, exposing the white, bitter chalk of the medicine. Her tongue darted between her lips, scraping the roof of her mouth, trying to rid itself of the unpleasant aftertaste.

"Fuck this." She set the half chewed up pill onto her nightstand, and wiped the residue off on her pants. With a thump, she fell back onto her bed and wrapped herself inside of her blankets. It wasn't much longer before she drifted back to sleep.

XXXXXXXX

"Hello?"

"Hi, Serah? This is Hope Esthiem calling."

"Oh, Hope! How are you?"

"I'm fine. It's, uh, well. I was wondering. I mean, I'm calling because—you see, Lightning never showed up today. I tried calling her a couple of times. I mean, it's only been thirty minutes, maybe I'm over reacting—"

Click.

"H-hello? Serah?"

XXXXXXX

The phone was ringing.

Lightning swallowed. Hunger pains clawed at her stomach, forcing a headache back into her head. Without comprising her cocoon of blankets, she rotated to her right, reached an arm out and felt around for the phone. Once the smooth, plastic surface came into contact she picked up the device and pushed the talk button.

"Hello?" There was a muffled response on the other end. It took Lightning several moments to register that she was holding the phone upside down. The woman frowned, rotated the phone in her hand and grudgingly wiggled out of her covers.

"Hello Claire?"

It was Serah. "Yeah, I'm here." Lightning heard Serah sigh into the receiver. The noise elicited a cringe on Lightning's end, sounding more like a roaring windstorm than a sigh. She wondered if her sister had sensed her recoil, because her voice softened.

"Claire, do you have any idea what time it is?"

Lightning's head continued to throb. "Um," she leaned forward, looking at her clock. "Shit—it's already six!"

"Yes, it is." She could picture the little frown forming on Serah's face. "Is everything alright? Hope tried calling you several times."

That's right, today was Friday. Lightning sighed, pinching her temples. "Sorry, I forgot." Hope didn't have her home phone number, and her cell phone was in her purse…which was in the living room. "I'm fine."

"Claire," she said in a warning tone. Lightning heard her shuffle about, moving the phone from one shoulder to another.

"What are you doing?"

"Tell me what's wrong first," Serah instructed. Lightning sighed. There was no point in arguing with her sister. It would only prolong their conversation and by extension, the ebbing pain in her torso that screamed for food.

"I'm sick."

"Oh my goodness, are you okay? Do you have a fever? Have you been drinking plenty of fluids? What's wrong?"

"Serah."

"—did you call the doctor? Because I can do that for you—"

"—Serah!" Lightning huffed, waiting until the other part of the line grew quiet. "I told you I'm fine. It's probably just the flu. I've been sleeping most of the day anyways." She eased back on to her bed. "Now what are you doing?"

"Last minute packing—Snow has a business meeting out in California, and the company offered to fly the whole family out at no expense. But I'm going to let him know that he has to go without me—"

"No!" Lightning shouted into the receiver. "Don't cancel your plans because of me. I told you. I'm fine."

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone."

"Serah," Lightning's voice dropped an octave, taking on a grave tone. "I am a grown woman. I think I can handle a virus." No need to mention that she passed out on the bathroom floor. Or that she couldn't keep any food down. Lightning licked her lips. Her entire mouth was bone dry, and stale. "Could you just do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Call Hope for me? Tell him something came up unexpectedly."

"Of course, sis. Please take care of yourself."

"I will." Lightning hung up the phone and shrunk back under her covers.

_I should probably eat something…or at least get some water._

XXXXXXX

"Hope. It's me, Serah."

The young man was seated outside of Brunoise, a bag of groceries and equipment occupying the space next to him. His fingers which pressed the cell phone against his ear stung from the bitter cold of November. After abruptly ending their conversation earlier by hanging up on him, Hope's level of worry had extended far beyond the usual amount that was considered to be healthy. He adjusted his grip on his phone. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes and no," Serah replied. Hope stood and immediately started pacing.

"What is it? She…she isn't…" What if Light was in an accident? Could she have lost her job? Hope began chewing on his nails.

Serah sighed. "She has the flu."

"She's not, you know in the hospital or anything—"

"—No, no, of course not," the woman almost laughed. Hope suddenly felt lighter, like something had been pressing down on him up until that moment. Admittedly, he had grown concerned for Light's well-being. "I know it's probably nothing, but I worry about her. She has the tendency to work herself to death, even when she's sick. Never bothers to rest or relax. And I would check on her, but unfortunately Snow and I are out of town for the week. We're driving to the airport right now, as a matter of fact."

Hope frowned. Light could have at least called. Perhaps she simply had been so sick that she could not even pick up the phone? Maybe that's why Serah was so worried. Hope wondered if she could actually get that sick, sick enough to not be able to move. He tried to envision Light under a mound of comforters, watching reruns on her TV and eating chicken noodle soup—the image would not form.

"Hope? Are you still there?"

"Yeah." Hope grated his teeth. The cooking lessons had been his only plans this evening, and now that there wasn't anything to do...

"Sorry about the confusion. Goodbye—"

"—wait!" Hope interjected. He was met with several disapproving gazes from strangers who happened to pass at the precise moment of his outburst. Hope ignored them. "D-do you want me to check on her? I can do that for you."

"Would you really? Oh Hope, that's so sweet of you. If it's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all. I wasn't doing anything else tonight."

"Thank you so much," Serah chimed into the phone. "I gave her address to you, didn't I? Do you need gas money? I can give some to you when you get back—"

"Serah, no it's fine. Not a problem at all. I'll call you later to update."

"I really appreciate this Hope," said Serah. "Rosie, no, don't climb over the seat! Snow, get a hold of your daughter—yes _your_ daughter. Would it kill you to take a little responsibility?"

"I should probably let you go now."

"No sweetie, that is not a toy—oh, sorry Hope! Chat later."

The line went dead and Hope pocketed his cell phone, returned to the bench and collected his things. _This is going to be incredibly weird…what was I thinking? _He sighed and shook his head. Hope tried to assure himself that he was just being a good person, checking in on his student because she was too sick to take care of herself. Yet the idea of seeing her, no matter what the circumstances, excited Hope. There was a hop in his step as he made his way over to the bus stop. He sat down, frequently glancing over his shoulder, eyes searching for no one in particular. It was an unusual tick, a nervous habit he could never seem to rid himself from. So he twitched out of anticipation, making any onlooker believe he had some sort of health condition.

The bus rolled into the station with a hiss, doors opening. Hope flung himself off the bench and rushed towards the doors, heart racing. It had hurt him; those thirty minutes of waiting back in the kitchen, listing to the mundane ticking of the wall clock. Every time the hand of that clock moved, a little pinprick of pain pressed against his chest. He thought he had been ditched, like she had decided that she was sick and tired of seeing him. When he was with Light, he felt better. It was probably the most illogical idea Hope had though in a long while, but he didn't care.

He needed to see her.

XXXXXXX

"Tch. Of all the times to be reminded to do grocery shopping…"

Lightning closed the last cabinet, shaking her head. She reached for her cup and downed the last few drops of water, making it her forth glass within the hour. Despite this, her mouth remained painfully dry. With glass in hand, she shuffled over to the sink and ran the tap for another refill.

After an extensive search, Lightning had discovered a grand total of five food items: mayonnaise, ketchup, butter, molded bread (which had been buried far, far back in the recesses of her cabinet and was more mold than bread when she discovered it), and a container of cottage cheese. Since Lightning wasn't particularly eager to make a buttered ketchup mayo soup, she retrieved the small container of dairy product and set it down on her counter.

A knock at the door stopped her in mid-pull on the drawer that held spoons. Lightning clenched her water tightly and reluctantly headed out of her kitchen, towards the living room and finally the front door. Several more knocks sounded as she maneuvered through her apartment.

_Serah, that'd better not be you knocking…_ She hiked up the blanket around her shoulders, so the ends lifted from the floor to just hovering above her ankles. The last thing she needed was Serah playing Mom for Lightning. A third round of knocking battered her front door and this time it was followed by a voice.

"Open up, please? It's kinda cold out here."

Lightning watched the glass slip in slow motion from her surprised fingers and shatter against the floor tile of her doorway. A shower of glass and water littered the space in every direction from the impact. Her mind was empty. She stared, lips parted, eyes widened, at the door.

Hope.

"Did something just break? A-are you okay? Light?" Hope's voice, muffled from the barrier between them, invaded her apartment. Lightning drew in a sharp breath and stared down at her feet. They were bare.

_Damn it. _Her mouth opened and closed three times before it finally decided to speak. "I'm…fine; broke a glass…I don't have any shoes on." Lightning's mind buzzed like an angry hive of bees that had just been provoked. Why was Hope at her front door, asking permission to be let into her home? _Breathe. Think. _All proverbial fingers seemed to point back to one person.

_Serah. _Lightning felt a surge of fury well up inside her. It made perfect sense. Serah was gone, so she asked someone to take her place, to take her role of "mother" while she was away.

Lightning did not take well to that idea.

"I know this is…weird. Me being here and whatnot, I actually kind of called your sister, and she told me you were sick, so I sort of opted to come over and check on you," Hope's voice trailed off as he drew close to the end of his sentence. "I'll just leave—or, if you don't mind, I can help you clean up the glass first and then leave."

There was a long silence before Lightning sighed. "Door's unlocked." She watched as the knob turned, defeated. It had been a relatively quick decision to allow him in, namely based on two assumptions: firstly, that Hope had come here of his own accord. Secondly, the chances that Hope came to her doorstep _without_ food was about the equivalence of Lightning acting kindly towards snow for a length that exceeded five minutes.

Those sorts of things just never happened.

XXXXXXXX

The second thing that Hope noticed about Lightning's apartment was its severe lack of décor. All the walls were painted a dull beige color, completely naked and void of any photos or paintings. Only a pink bowl sitting on a nearby ledge drew any attention. There was a happy little cartoon penguin panted on it, waving a flipper to whomever happened to glance at it. And it probably got a lot of glances—the thing was dreadfully out of place in the woman's living room.

He noticed all these things secondly, because his first foot inside the door resounded with a loud crunch. Hope's eyes immediately cast downwards and he retracted his step—shards of glass were scattered everywhere across the foyer.

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you broke a glass." He looked up, meeting Light's gaze for the first time since his arrival: piecey bits of pink hair framed her pale face; limp tendrils hanging over the bulky blanket that looked like it had been stolen from the top of her bedspread. It wrapped around her shoulders and arms, encasing her entire body down to mid-calf. For all Hope knew, she could have been wearing nothing underneath it. A blush forced its way into Hope's cheeks and he shook his head. Light wouldn't open the door in just a blanket. Regardless, he had never seen her look so…vulnerable.

"Can you close the door? It's getting cold," she requested in a nonchalant voice. He bowed his head in apology, side stepping large chunks of glass and pulled the door close behind him.

"Sorry. Can I set this down in the kitchen?" He raised the bag in his left hand, indicating to it. Lightning nodded, a hand emerging from the pastel yellow comforter to run through her messy locks. Hope approached the kitchen, every step mindful of glass shards, and set his items down before turning back to her. "Where's your broom?"

"The long cabinet, next to the fridge," she pointed with the same hand that had just untangled from her hair. Hope made his way towards the cabinet. "My slippers are next to the couch. I'll help you clean it up."

He nodded. Light wore _slippers_. It just seemed very un-Light like to him. He had only known her for about a little less than a month, not nearly enough time to know someone well, but there were certain things, certain behaviors that Hope could only assume Lightning did and Lightning did not do. Wearing slippers was one of the things that Lightning did not do, or so his mind had unconsciously told him until now.

The slippers were plain and brown. No animals, no fuzzy hot pink fur—Hope would have surely laughed aloud if he had found something like that. Moving the broom to his left hand, he picked up the slippers in his right, rounding about the couch to the edge of the carpet and handed them to her. She accepted them with a curt nod, taking one in each hand and while balancing on her right foot, lifted her left leg. Light wobbled and struggled to meet her foot with the slipper.

"Careful," Hope took a step forward, catching her arm to restore balance. "Here, just lean on me for support. It'll be easier." Of course, there was an easier way to do things—he could scoop Light into his arms and carry her over to a spot with no glass. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine and another blush crept into his cheeks. By the time he forced the thought out of his mind, she had already let go of his arm and was walking back to the kitchen. Hope had the sudden urge to smack his forehead with the broom handle.

Instead, he knelt down and began sweeping. It was somewhat awkward; with the broom handle extending several feet above his head, his hand clutching the very base as he pushed bits of glass into the dust pan. The water on the floor was not helping either: every sweep left little wet streaks of miniscule glass shards in its wake.

"I was kind of expecting you to find the dust pan in there."

Hope looked up from sweeping. Light hovered above him with a significantly shorter brush in hand. She had ditched her blanket, revealing a t-shirt and sweatpants clad body. A smirk was plastered on her face. She bent down next to him, taking the larger slivers of glass between her fingers and depositing them into the dustpan. "So, what's in the bag?"

"A surprise," he replied, re-sweeping an area where the water had finally dried up. He glanced up briefly to catch a deadpan stare coming from Light. Hope chuckled softly. "Fortunately for you, the dishes I wanted to do today involved rice and bananas."

"So?"

Hope raised an eyebrow. "So—BRAT?" He looked up again, only to be met with confusion. "You know, BRAT? Bread, rice, apple sauce, toast?" Light shook her head. Hope folded back on his haunches and tilted his head. "You mean your mom never gave you that stuff while you were sick?"

"I never really got sick a lot as a kid. Plus, the times I did get sick, only Serah was there to take care of me. My dad died shortly after Serah was born, and my mom passed when I was fifteen. She was always so busy working she never really had time to take care of us." Lightning explained and examined the piece of glass she had just picked up. "Huh, didn't mean to tell the whole sob story."

"No, no that's fine—I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

Light shrugged. "It's no big deal. You get used to it after a while." She lifted her brush but paused for a moment. "There was this one time I got sick when I was nine. Serah was six, and the only food she could find in the house was butterscotch pudding. But, you know, I couldn't keep it down."

"Dairy is probably the worst thing for your stomach when you're nauseated," he informed the woman.

"I hope she knows that the next time my niece gets a stomach bug," Light stood, and took her tray back to the kitchen. "So is that what your Mom used to do? Feed you…what was it? BRA?"

Hope laughed. "BRAT. Speaking of, you can help yourself to a banana if you like." With one final sweep, he joined Light in the kitchen, eyes darting around the space for a trash can. As he looked, his heart sank: the kitchen was bare, like the living room, and cramped. There was a fine layer of dust settled over the stovetop, and he counted a total of two knives in the knife rack, one of which he recognized as his own. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to make a wild guess that you don't cook very often."

"No need for corrections," she said between bites of a banana. "The only thing I had available to eat before you came here was some cottage cheese." Light snorted. "Good thing you showed up, actually, else I'd be upchucking that stuff as we speak."

"Happy to be of service," he replied with a shy smile. "Though, in honesty, there is an actual surprise in my bag so, if you don't mind—" He gestured towards the living room. "Sit over there for awhile, okay? I'll put on the rice."

She glared at him for a moment, one side of her cheeks full of banana. Hope choked back a laugh, just long enough for Light to sigh and exit the kitchen, before a widespread grin overtook his features. He rubbed his hands together, and delved into the nearest pantry in search for a pot.

"You know," he called out. "When you cook rice, you should always leave the lid on. Never peak at it or anything, because it lets all the steam escape." Hope grew embarrassed when there wasn't a response. In fact, a long silence settled in as he continued to prepare the rice.

"So your mom still takes care of you when you're sick?"

Hope's mood took a sudden shift downward. "Mom…died—when I was fourteen." He set the pot of water on the stove to boil, and ripped open the top to the bag of rice. "I guess we have something in common…moms passing away when we were in high school."

Hope thought he heard Lightning mumble "I'm sorry" but dismissed it. Instead, he heard a more clear voice ask, "And your dad?"

"I'd prefer not to talk about it." The tension grew so thick in the next couple of seconds; Hope could have picked up his knife and cut it. He placed the lid on the rice and retrieved his 'surprise' from the bag, padding over behind the couch.

"Tah-dah." He simultaneously dangled the object in question in front of Light's face. She took it from him, flipping it over in her hands, a rare, genuine smile coming and going with a blink of an eye. "I brought it today so I could lend it to you during class. So I figured we—I mean you. Uh. That is, if you don't mind me staying."

"Sit down, Hope," she chuckled. He rubbed the back of his neck, and preoccupied the spot next to her. "Iron Chef, the original—that's how you pick up all the ladies, right?"

Hope brushed off her sarcastic jab at his pride with a laugh. "Yes, it's my signature move. All my secrets have been revealed." He held out a hand. "I'll put it in." Light handed the case to him, her hand brushing against his. It felt unusually hot. "If you don't mind me asking, when's the last time you've taken your temperature?"

"I haven't." She let go of the case, which fell into his lap and drew her legs up onto the couch, engulfing them in the yellow blanket. "Why did you come here, anyways? I figured Serah put you up to it at first…"

"So what if she had? Would you have slammed the door in my face?"

Light sighed. "Just because I prefer to take full responsibility of myself doesn't necessarily mean that I am inhospitable." She craned her neck. "But yes, I probably would have."

"Oh," Hope shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"So. Why did you come here?"

When prompted with the question a second time, Hope drew a blank. It didn't seem like a smart idea to tell her that he had a sudden urge to see her, which was the truth, and worrying also seemed to infringe on…what? Why did he care so much about his explanation? He turned to her. She was watching him quietly, waiting, reading his movements so she already knew what he was going to say before he said it. But some part of Hope wanted to see that kind of unexpected reaction, and so he went with his first option.

"I wanted to see you," he admitted. It was perfect, her reaction—the mask of passiveness came off and revealed parted lips and widened eyes. There might have even been a subtle blush on her cheeks, but it was too faint for Hope to detect. He savored what little of the moment he could before toning down the very forward nature of his comment. "I mean, I'm used to seeing you every Friday, and it's been a while since I've hung out with a friend. So I figured I'd drop by." Light seemed to relax after his next statement, which had been spoken evenly and without falter. Hope relaxed as well. It had sounded quite idiotic, but he had sincerely meant every word. Even the follow up part, he honestly did consider Light to be his friend.

"The thermometer is in the left drawer in the bathroom," said Light, refusing to look him in the eye after the previous exchange.

"So you're going to let me do my job now?" he teased.

"Shut up."

Hope chuckled, and returned shortly with the thermometer. She swiped the object out of his grasp before he even had a chance to sit back down. It was a nonverbal threat that the teasing had to stop. He popped the DVD in returned to the couch, glancing from the remote to remote on the coffee table before Light pointed out the right one.

A minute into the previews, the thermometer started to beep. She drew the instrument from between her lips, studying the little screen on the side. Hope leaned over to read as well and touched shoulders with Light, a little surge of excitement flowing through him.

"A little over a hundred," she said and recapped the thermometer, setting it down on the coffee table. "You know, you could have just skipped this part."

"Right, sorry." His thumb shifted on the remote, bringing up the main menu of the DVD. Light yawned besides him. "Hey, stay awake for the first episode at least."

"I'm not tired," she frowned. "I slept the entire day." She folded her arms across her chest. "Can you get the Advil off my nightstand? And a glass of water too, while you're at it."

"I thought you prefer to be responsible for yourself?" he joked.

Lightning replied with a smirk, "You're here. Might as use you as much as I can."

Hope made a second trip back into Light's room, returning with pills and water. She popped on into her mouth while Hope pressed play. T

"Is that the chairman?" Lightning leaned forward in her seat. "What the hell is he wearing?"

"Just to clarify, that's a different chairman than the one now," said Hope.

"I know that."

"Oh, well, Chairman Kaga was known for his flamboyant outfits."

"This is season one, right?" Light asked.

"No, I picked one of the later seasons because Morimoto was the third Japanese Iron Chef."

"This…is even more ridiculous than the American version," Hope laughed. "Yes, the dubbed in English voices is the piece de resistance."

The night grew later. Light left her half eaten bowl of rice on the table. They went through an entire disk and switched to a new one, still tossing around comments every now and then. He wanted to believe Light was sincerely enjoying herself, that his humble visit with a bag food and Iron Chef DVDs was actually causing him to see little hints of smiles and laughter from her. Light put on a great, invincible front every time he saw her but this was a side he rarely had the chance to see. It made her all the more human, and Hope enjoyed every moment of it.

Slowly, over the duration of each episode, he inched a little nearer to her. She didn't seem to notice or mind—by the third episode of the second disk, their thighs were brushing. Hope tried swallowing, but a lump formed in his throat. Light's head began bobbing up and down, drifting in and out of sleep. He hadn't bothered to check the time in a while, but it must have been late. The TV became background noise. Hope closed his eyes. They shot open, feeling a weight on his shoulder.

"Light?" he turned his head only to receive a face full of pink hair. With half lidded eyes, he looked down past her hair. Long eyelashes entangled themselves, heavy breaths, not quite snores, escaped her lips. Light had fallen asleep. His heart pounded in his chest. "I…should probably get going." But he didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful…and Hope didn't have the energy to get up. So he sat there, studying her features, until sleep claimed him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, lovelies. Here with the new chapter! Sorry this is kind of late. I had finals, and then an anime convention to attend, and now I am sick with a sinus infection. **

**Summer updates – I will probably not have any updates from June 21****st**** to August 1****st****. This is because (drum roll please)…**

** I will be in Japan! Yes, you heard right. Yes, I can hardly believe it either. But somehow I was able to afford it, and thus I am on a study abroad program for six weeks, taking my Japanese lingual skills to a whole new level. I have been ****suffering**** studying the language for two years. Expect to see fantastic photos links in my profile.**

**So until then, I will do my best to provide new chapters in May / early June.**

**Chapter 8**

Lightning stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds of her window, shining brightly in her direct line of vision and bathing her in tones of gold. The woman stifled a groan, forcing her eyes shut. Her body was stiff and achy, like she had slept on a bed of rocks. She settled back into her pillow.

Lightning let out a sudden gasp, startled by the involuntary movement of her head rising and falling.

Her pillow was breathing.

She tore away from the object, which let out a small complaint. Lightning stared blankly. Her mind took slowly to registering bits and pieces of her surroundings. She groped at the surface below her, soon realizing it to be her couch, not her bed. With reluctance, Lightning inclined her head to view what had just moved from beneath her.

Hope.

It all came back in a flood: Friday morning, Serah's phone call—Hope had come over, taken care of her and, somehow, he had never left. There was a harsh, deafening pulse in her ears. Despite her jerky wake-up call, the young man continued to sleep. She sat, petrified, her breathing becoming increasingly shallow.

_Now what?_

The thought reverberated within her mind, unanswered. Hope's rhythmic breathing filled the silent void of her living room. She watched him, driven painfully by curiosity. Each rise and fall of his chest shifted the wrinkles of his dusty blue cotton shirt. He turned to his left slightly, jaw slackening, a slight snore escaping his lips. Stray locks of silver hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his peaceful features.

A steady heat rose within her chest. It spread into her neck and face. She was…observing him—very intently. Lightning shook her head abruptly, tossing unwashed pink curls. Wrong. This was terribly wrong. Her hand wrung and twisted the blanket that partially encased the pair. The other hand clutched at her temples.

How should she wake him? Should she wake him? Should she scream at him, throw things? He had helped her—brought her food, entertainment, medicine. Lightning's temper began to stir, though she couldn't decipher if she was mad at herself or Hope.

She couldn't just leave him laying there.

A slight movement could have easily be sensed by him, like the very ground beneath them had broken out into a tremulous earthquake. The woman prayed silently that he would not wake. Lightning eased herself off the couch, replacing the blanket over Hope's sleeping form. She drew a slow breath, composing herself as best she could before reaching a hand over to his shoulder, and gave it a violent shake.

"Get up." Lightning instructed.

Hope grunted and opened his eyes. The woman folded her arms across her chest. He let out a small yawn. A few fleeting moments passed, and then Hope's eyes grew as wide as saucers. His head snapped to the right, looking directly at her with a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

Lightning's tongue searched quickly for lies. "I blanked out for a few minutes last night. When I came to, you were already asleep. I tried to wake you, but you mumbled something about being too tired to drive home." Her eyes darted back and forth. "So I let you crash on the couch."

"Oh." Hope rubbed the back of his neck gingerly and averted his gaze to the floor. "S-so, how do you feel?"

"Better."

"That's good." She watched him tense underneath her cold stare. Hope licked his lips and sat up a little more, folding his hands politely in his lap. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to—you know." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his messy hair. "I intruded into your home. Kind of rude of me, huh."

Lightning snorted, "You wouldn't be breathing if you had _intruded_."

"Thanks… I guess?"

"Well, I feel much better. Guess I have to thank you for that." She was doing it again—retreating. The soldier-like persona overtook her in times like this. It kept her calm, level-headed. It also prevented anyone from getting too close.

But the reality was evident. A permissible moment of weakness resulted in this unfamiliar man staying the night at her apartment. Did she really consider Hope to be a stranger? She certainly treated him as such. You could never act towards a person too warmly, because they always tended to linger a little too long. Then the lingering turned into clinging, and then to smothering.

"I probably should get going then." Lightning's chest went hollow. Hope stood. Waves of pastel yellow blanket spilled off his waist over the couch. He stretched briefly and began searching for his things.

_Please. _Lightning was torn. With Hope here, it was like perpetually drowning in lukewarm water. If he was gone, she would be left in solitude. Lightning loved solitude, basked in delight at the chance of being secluded. But this didn't feel like the comforting solitude she normally welcomed. It felt empty.

"Coffee," she said. He slung his bag over his shoulder, looking up at her. "You want some? Before you leave?"

Hope cracked a smile. "How well are you feeling?"

XXXXXXXX

"…_What_?"

Light blatantly stared at Hope for a moment. His posture was fixed—a snapshot of him pouring sugar into his coffee. The last of the granules slipped out and Hope reluctantly crumpled the little pink packet it before setting it down next to two more empty ones. She continued to stare as he reached over to pick up his spoon and stir the contents inside his cup.

Fifteen minutes ago, Hope had been waiting outside Lightning's apartment while she showered. She had exited in jeans and a dark green sweater, with slightly damp hair and a pink tinge in her cheeks. She looked healthy, which was a large improvement from yesterday, and a good breakfast would do anyone good after having a twenty-four hour stomach flu. The Morning Glory café had been a short bus ride away from the apartment complex. There had been nothing but silence between the pair after his breakfast proposal, so her sudden vocalization had thrown him off somewhat.

"Do you always put in that much sugar?"

Hope leaned forward slightly, eyeing the black pool in her ceramic cup. "You drink this stuff plain?" Light shrugged. "Well for me, it's got to have a little bit of sweetness."

Light snorted "Three packets of sugar, two flavored creamers. That sounds like a little bit of sweetness."

A waiter rounded their table with a stack of plates balanced carefully on his forearms. He flashed a big smile as he set down their respective dishes. "Here you are, spiced apple and blueberry compote stuffed French toast, and for the lady, the fall harvest omelet with roasted garlic house potatoes."

"Thank you," said Light. Hope shook out his napkin with a quick snap of his wrists and smoothed it down over his lap, eyeing his breakfast. The brioche they had used for the French toast was perfectly golden brown. Fruit compote dripped out onto the plate, mingling with the crème fraise and honey artistically drizzled over the top. Lightning's dish was equally attractive, garnished with a butternut squash puree and fried sage leaves.

Light looked at his dish quizzically.

"So I like sweets."

Light raised an eyebrow.

"A lot," he murmured, chewing his first bite quietly. He had taken a bit of the blueberry one first. It was robust and tangy, with hints of citrus—a nice contrast between the creaminess of the brioche. He was also picking up hints of lavender from the honey. Hope licked his lips. "They never disappoint here."

"It's…pretty good." Light's voice betrayed her obvious state of enjoyment. She had already eaten half the omelet. "So, how did you find out about this place? I've never heard of it."

"Brother of a father of a girl whose cousin used to go to culinary school with me."

Light wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, I know. It's been around for a while, and the place still isn't very popular. But the food is superb."

The interior of the Morning Glory café was sleek and modern—the room was painted in pastel green and yellow. White table clothes hung from every table, and a fresh flower in a rather oblong-shaped vase sat atop. Behind them was a photograph of a curvy metal sculpture from the art museum downtown. Eyes returning back to the table, Hope took a sip of his coffee and grinned, "Ah. Perfection."

"All that sugar and yet you look like an overgrown twig."

"That's why my roommate used to call my coffee diabetes in a cup, not obesity," Hope flashed a grin and took another dramatic swig of his drink. The mug hit the saucer with a loud clank. Silence filtered in between them, soon engulfed by the quiet buzz of the surrounding tables. Hope began to fidget. "You know you didn't have to come with me today if you didn't want to."

"What else would I have eaten?" She replied almost instantly, scooping up a small mound of potatoes.

"Forget to go grocery shopping this week?" He teased.

Light forcefully set her fork down. It shook the table, ice cubes rattling around in their water goblets. Hope flinched.

There was a long pause before her lips moved. "I…" Her voice trailed off.

"How are we doing?"

Their waiter seemingly spawned from nowhere, hovering over Hope's left shoulder. The silver haired man glanced as his plate, about half devoured. He straightened up in his seat a bit, turning to the waiter. "Fine, I think this is all we're getting."

"Are we paying separate or together today?"

"Separate."

"Together."

The pair uttered the words simultaneously. Light shot an unnerving glare at her dining partner, but Hope just laughed. He caught the woman's gaze with his own, determined blue eyes. "Together."

The waiter chuckled in a comedic manner. "What a gentlemen. Count yourself lucky miss, these are a rarity." He gave a flirtatious wink before disappearing into the background of the café.

"I can take care of myself," she snapped quietly. Light stood, tossing down her napkin.

"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

"Hey." Hope caught her by the wrist. There seemed to be a pattern to these exchanges: Hope says something, Light gets offended…and then she storms off. He wasn't about to permit another repeat. "You went to the bathroom just before we ordered."

"Gotta go again."

Hope pleaded this time, "Please...sit down. Please?" Light jerked her hand away. She hovered for a few moments, between her seat and the path that would take her to the restrooms. Finally, with much hesitance, Light rejoined him. Hope studied her hardened features, trying to make sense of it all. Granted, he was already treading on a bed of egg shells from staying the night at her place. Hope sighed. In retrospect, he probably should have woken the woman up the minute she dozed off against his shoulder.

"Do you…" He began, but the thought could not manifest into a proper sentence. Hope licked his lips in a second attempt. "Your…paycheck—is it, is it not sufficient enough?" Watching the woman tense up, he knew he had guessed correctly. Now she was going to speak. He expected some sort of snappy retort, or long brooding silence.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" She sighed, rubbing little concentric circles into the base of her temples, "especially Serah."

Hope watched her curl her hands around her mug and stare pensively into the coffee. Her eyes narrowed, lips tightened, as she slowly collected her thoughts.

"It's enough to make a living, working at that place," she stated. Eyes flickered from him back to her cup. "But when I was working at—" she struggled with the next word, "—PSICOM, I was able to afford an apartment like that. So I've been cutting back on things like grocery shopping, cable. Not a big deal."

Hope stared at her, open-mouthed. "Anything else?"

Light shrugged. "Like I said—not a big deal."

He frowned, recalling the chilly air of the apartment. "Are you not running your heat?"

"Listen, _kid_," Hope flinched when she punctuated the word. Her mouth widened to speak, then snapped shut again. "Sorry." Light wrung her hands. "Sometimes, when life throws you an unexpected curveball, you have to make the necessary sacrifices—"

"By starving yourself?" Hope shook his head. "No. Light, I don't think—"

"—You have no idea what it's like to be in that kind of situation," she snapped. "This isn't the first time this happened. When our parents died, who do you think was responsible for scraping up enough money just to get by?"

"You'd be surprised, actually," Hope replied coolly. "When you're fourteen and your dead-beat dad is suddenly missing, and your mom had really, really expensive hospital bills that she couldn't even afford." His fist flexed closed, embedding his nails into the flesh of his palm. "I've been there. It isn't easy. Hell, what is any scared, parentless fourteen year-old supposed to do? But at least now you have people to support you."

"Hope—"

"Do you know how much I would have given? Just to have someone to help me through it… At least you had your sister." He stared down at the table. "By the way, I've only got one punch left on the card for Brunoise."

"You had to bring this up _now_?" Light asked with a hint of malice in her voice.

Hope shrugged. "I was getting a little tired of the other conversation." He set his fork down on his empty plate and folded his arms. "But if we have to go back to it, here's my two cents: find some help. Whether that's talking to Rydgea, or looking for a roommate, or even your sister—I don't know. I don't feel comfortable knowing someone is going hungry when they don't have to."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because," he felt a heat rise into his cheeks. Hope swallowed. "You're my friend…" His voice trailed off. Is this how friends acted towards each other? He always did his best to help out Maqui or Lebreau, even Rydgea and Yuj, but not like this. This felt…different. Here he was, sitting in a café with this woman, treating her to breakfast—amongst the other things he willingly bent over backwards to do. Hope looked down at his watch. He should have been at work five minutes ago, but somehow, he didn't care.

Because he'd much rather be here.

"Friends?" The word sounded foreign coming from her. Knots formed in Hope's stomach. Yes, they were friends, and that's all they were. His heartbeat was embarrassingly loud, and he wondered if she could actually hear it. Or detect the heavy blush in his cheeks. It would give anyone the wrong impression.

"Yes. Friends." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the check already set on the table. Hope reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and set several wrinkled bills down. "You know—people who you spend time with, rely on, and occasionally get a free meal from."

"Alright then."

Hope blinked. "Huh?"

"If we're…friends," She turned from him and focused her gaze onto her lap. "Just—whatever. Don't complain about wasting your money on me afterwards, is all." She folded her arms across her chest and looked up. "Seeing as you already pulled your money out."

"Okay then," he beamed.

"Could you at least let me cover the tip?"

"Why are you so insistent to pay for something?"

"Because…" Their waiter returned to the table, swooped down and grabbed up the payment.

"Keep the change," Hope said.

Light sighed, "Never mind." She scooped up her purse, stood and hastily pushed in her chair. "We should probably get going."

"Yeah." To inform Lightning that he was supposed to be at work at this moment would only further complicate things, so he refrained. The pair exited the restaurant, stopping just outside the doorway before parting ways.

She placed a hand on her hip. "So. How are we going to work out the rest of these cooking lessons?"

"That is a good question." Hope shrugged into his jacket. "I don't think it would be right of me to ask your sister for money to rent out that space—the rooms are kind of expensive." He fumbled with the zipper. It occasionally would snag about a third of the way up while zipping. "My place works. I mean, the kitchen is a bit smaller than the one we've been using, but I've got more than enough equipment."

"Seems logical, you wouldn't have to haul any of that stuff around," she noted. Hope chuckled, and the woman frowned at him. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry. I was kind of expecting…never mind."

Light's frown deepened.

"You just took to the idea so quickly. It seemed a bit out of character for you," he teased. The woman rolled her eyes.

"I'm not _that_ unreasonable." Her posture stiffened. "I think—"

Hope jerked her back by the elbow, a split second before a cyclist sped out from nowhere, zooming past them. Light stared for a moment at the space she occupied beforehand, completely disoriented.

"Thank you." Light swallowed.

The young man nodded. "No problem. They aren't supposed to be riding on the sidewalk anyways."

"There will always be an idiot to be the exception to something." She smoothed out a few wrinkles in her blouse. "Like my sister's husband."

"You really don't like Snow, do you?"

"Not particularly," her lips curved into a faint smile and then vanished, "which is why I'm not looking forward to Thanksgiving."

Hope took a seat on the nearest bench. Light joined him, leaning back and stretching out her legs. Her neck craned upwards, allowing her head to rest on the bench. Hope stared down into his hands. "I wonder what I should make this year."

Light eyed him. "You mean you're not going anywhere?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I mean, Rydgea and the others have their own respective families to visit—the same for the people at Eden." Hope sighed, turning his attention to the streets. Traffic was light during this part of the day. Cars came and went, with an occasional blare of the horn, but nothing like rush hour traffic. Hope sighed again. It was probably a good idea to start heading over to Eden. He cringed at the thought of Fang—she wouldn't be pleased with him being late.

He looked at Light. She looked at him. They held each other's gazes in silence.

"I should—"

"—would you?"

Hope chuckled, "Sorry, you first."

Lightning pursed her lips. "Would you be interested in... maybe joining us? For Thanksgiving—I'm sure Serah wouldn't mind an extra guest. She actually loves that sort of stuff."

His heart fluttered briefly inside his chest. Thanksgiving dinner with Light? He was shocked that she had even entertained the idea.

"You don't have to," she cut in rather quickly. "It was just a thought."

"No, I'd love to!" Hope waved his hands frantically. "Ah. Sorry, it was kind of an unexpected question." A smile spread across his face. "Yes. I'll come for dinner. I don't mean to impose."

"Not at all," she replied. The woman folded her hands in her lap, shifting in her seat. "You were gonna say something?"

"Oh. Oh yeah—er, I have to go. I'm…kinda late for work."

Her eyes widened. "Right."

"See you," he added sheepishly before standing up and heading off.

"Hope?"

He paused in mid-step. "Yeah?" Hope waited politely. He could hear her struggle to speak.

"Thanks…again. For the food."

Hope turned to face Light. "You're welcome. Anytime."

She cracked a faint smile from the bench. "I'll pay next time."

"Okay. But I'm going to have to hold you to it." He waved a short goodbye before rounding the corner.

The commute to work was much longer than Hope anticipated, yet it seemed relatively short in his mind. His thoughts had been focused elsewhere. Not on his work, but on Light. And no matter how many times he tried to shake them, to switch subjects, his brain rerouted his thoughts back to her. Hope hadn't felt this way in ages: joyful, invincible, yet scared out of his wits all at the same time. The bus hissed into the next stop—his stop and Hope clabbered up to the front, exiting the vehicle. He was met with the lesser stale air of the city: Brisk, November wind that ruffled his untamed mess of hair and left it in further disarray.

Despite the cold, Hope felt warm. The warmth settled in his chest radiated out into his entire body, moving him forward. Hope glanced at his watch. He was nearly thirty minutes late. The reminder put a damper on his spirit, and all good feelings rushed out of him as he doubled his pace, rounded the corner, and headed into Eden.

Fang was waiting for him. Hope instantly froze. She was seated at an empty table, a spread of documents before her, reading glasses settled on the bridge of her nose and a pen poised over an inventory spreadsheet. Considering the woman usually did them in her office…

The Australian woman looked up from her work. "Why, if it isn't Hope."

Hope swallowed. He caught the faint sound of giggling. Vanille had taken up post behind a wall that divided the kitchens from the dining area. His heart dropped into his stomach. Today was going to suck.

"Eheh," was all Hope could manage. No amount of profusely apologizing was going to get him out of this predicament.

Fang capped her pen, let it fall onto her papers, and leaned back in her chair.

"Tell me somethin' Esthiem, why is it that out of all my employees, you're the one who seems to have the habit of being chronically late?"

"Uh…"

Fang elevated her eyebrows.

"I was kind of…"

The woman rose from her chair, placing a hand on either side of her hip. "I'm waitin'."

"My friend was sick last night and I went over to help her, and then this morning there was no food and we went out to eat. I sort of lost track of time and I'm sorry—please don't fire me." The entire explanation seemed to stick together, like one long, drawn out word.

Fang snorted. "Who says I was going to fire you?" She shot him a menacing look. "I will if this happens again. You should've damn well called me if it was somethin' like that. Maybe I would have been more understanding." Her arms folded across her chest and she jabbed a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "Now get yer ass in that kitchen and outta my sight before I change my mind."

"Yes ma'am!" Hope scurried as fast as humanly possible back into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Vanille lost it. She was laughing her head off as Hope shamefully headed back into the employee's area to change into his uniform.

"It's not funny," Hope mumbled.

"You getting chewed out by Fang? Of course it isn't—it happens all the time," said Anya. Hope had barely noticed her presence. She was at the counter peeling a hotel pan full of potatoes.

Ignoring their jeers at his tardiness, Hope made his way around the back, quickly changed, and took a seat next to Chef Anya. He picked up a potato in his left hand and studied it for a moment. The brown, leathery skin and malformed lumps stared back at him.

Vanille clasped her hands behind her back. "So what did you do?"

"Yes, do inform us," Anya joined in with a cat-like grin. "C'mon, Cupcake, you know the boss would never get rid of you. You're too good."

"Gee, thanks," Hope grumbled. He took a paring knife to the tuber and began peeling. The shavings fell into a large bowl before him, which was already preoccupied by other bits of potato skin. Two potatoes down, and his hands were already coated with the starchy pulp. It felt sticky and unpleasant. It annoyed him, because usually he was able to ignore the sensation.

Hope sighed. "Do you remember my student?"

"Not personally, but yes, I know about your cooking lessons. How are they going?"

"Good, actually, except that's why I was late today," he began, and picked up a new potato. "Well, it's more my fault." Hope rolled the potato in his hand. "My student, she was sick, so I went over to her place to help her out."

Anya's expression narrowed. "That doesn't really explain why you were late today."

Hope stabbed his knife into the potato, prying out an eye. "That's the thing—I kinda fell asleep at her place. We got breakfast this morning and I lost track of time."

Vanille let out a sudden squeal, looking up from her seat where she was polishing silverware. "Ooh! How scandalous."

"Not…really," Hope frowned.

"No I think she has a point," Anya countered, waving her potato in the air. "She's older than you, isn't she? That would make her a cougar. Ah, this is interesting."

"It's not like that!" He protested, but the women giggled. Somehow, the other chefs had gotten used to their antics, and they did their work quietly, ignoring the pair. Hope felt a steady heat rise into his cheeks. "It's not like that."

"Sure it isn't," said the pregnant woman, rolling her eyes. "You keep me updated, okay? I want to know all the juicy bits of your relationship development." Anya clasped her hands together. "To be young and in love, how I miss it."

"You're not that old!"

"Honey, when you're married for five years and expecting a baby, anything news like this is entertaining," Anya informed him, continuing to peel. Hope averted his eyes back to the potatoes, and joined the woman in work. The chef took notice of his withdrawal, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, everything okay?"

"It's fine."

Anya licked her lips. "You like her, don't you?"

Hope deposited his potato into the water bath. He stared into the milky water, swirling with clouds of starch, as if all his problems would be answered by concentrating his thoughts into the pool. The answer to that question…he already knew it. He had known for a while now. All he had to do was think of Light—her clear blue eyes, soft pink lips that would occasionally break into the faintest of smiles. How her scent was so akin to the fresh air after a rainstorm.

Hope couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah…yeah I do."


End file.
